[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 18]
Cicadas sung into the late morning air, a symphony of insects finding cause to render the day into a well worn din. Lakyus stretched herself, looking around at the golden fields surrounding her. She was able to see for miles in every direction, rolling hills of grain with the occasional cluster of farmers tending to the growing plants. The Blue Roses were around her, all five - even Evileye to stave her exhaustion - riding on horses provided to them by the crown when they departed. They had traveled through the night, a stealth tactic to avoid the specter that had haunted them from the evening of the sixteenth. Lakyus felt her floating blades twitch.
And there’s the sensor net. Wasn’t sure when we were going to hit it. We never really ride in from the east, do we? I half expected to actually run into Unglaus’s band.
As per their prisoner, the Death-Spreading Brigade had been set to hunt them down, lurking somewhere in the space between their keep and E-Rantel. The Blue Roses had thus taken a circuitous route, traveling through fields and back roads. Though they had departed from the palace at dusk, their considered pace had meant they only now began to arrive at familiar land, and from the opposite direction as they were wont.
Those sorts of men have a fiendish sense to predict the defensive reactions of their enemy. Maybe they were called off already; I suppose Eight Fingers is either too cheap, too foolish, or too shrewd to pursue us further. I… I can’t keep dodging this.
Lakyus paused for a moment, before sighing. She had pushed her conversation with Renner out of her mind as long as possible, filling it with worries of combat with wetworkers and highwaymen. Reaching the keep unaccosted now shattered that excuse for avoiding the topic, and as such things often did, it flooded back into her.
I don’t understand it. How can she be so calm about this? Her brother tried to kill her. I should kill him. I want to, I really do. She’s deeply afraid, but she knows she can’t express that to anything but I. Gods, I see her… what, twice a month at most? In all that in between time, she has to stay a princess; that persona of hers. She… She doesn’t have anyone to talk about this with. Climb was surprised when she mentioned it; she refuses to burden him with it, doesn’t she?
Climb was a whole other box of problems Lakyus had no will to parse, the Princess’s secret love increasingly tragic on its face. After a moment, she shook her head. Her horse moved along unflinchingly, and she looked down at its mane. After a moment, she decided to stroke it, the animal chuffing gratefully. It was a warhorse, so she felt the act was likely wasted, though she felt the need to none-the-less.
I knew she was lonely, but like that? She lives in a separate world; she’s a different sort of person. She’s not nobility, she’s royalty. I never quite understood that gulf, but it’s there. She’s a Vaiself, thick and through - holds a loyalty to her name and blood. The way she shook when I led that prayer. A civil war would be horrid. I can’t imagine it. Is she doing this for the people or for her house?
The question hung uncomfortably in her mind, her friend seeming ever more inscrutable. Time passed as she rode, the highest battlements of their keep coming into view in the distance. Lakyus clicked her tongue; she had a need to share her thoughts. After a moment, she pivoted in her seat. Looking behind, she flicked her eyes first from a languid Gagaran, an alert Tina, and a dreary Tia.
That’s not going to work.
Returning forward, she looked ahead to spot Evileye. She was riding twenty paces ahead, serving as a vanguard with her - recently revealed to be - innate nocturnal vision. Lakyus held out her hand, paddling it in the air to indicate her companions behind her needn’t speed up, before bringing her animal into a trot. She caught up shortly.
“Evileye.”
“Yes?”
“What sort of war are we fighting?”
Evileye stayed silent for a moment, the steady sway of her warhorse lumbering back and forth. Lakyus heard a short sigh; on second thought, she found it odd, given that Evileye had no need to breathe.
Is there such a thing as a rhetorical sigh?
“I know what you mean.”
“What?”
“You’re asking one of those big picture questions, one of those large scale moral ones, right?”
“Do-”
“You didn’t ask this to the twins or the brute because they wouldn’t get it.”
Does she have to be like this?
“Skip to the part where you answer my question.”
“Your question is the sort of question that isn’t worth answering.”
“Why?”
“We’re going to spill their blood all the same.”
“But the why matters.”
“Mm. This is the stuff with the crown prince, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is! He’s the crown prince, the next in line to the throne!”
“There’s nothing you can do about that.”
“Yes there is! We could-”
Lakyus cut herself off, ending her sentence with a pause, then a huff.
“I share your thoughts, I do; at least something like them. We are perfectly capable of hopping that distance again, killing him, and getting out unidentified. We could do it right now.”
“Why not? Why don’t we do that right now? He’s a traitor! He’s sold out his country to criminals and slavers, both domestic and foriegn.”
“You know why not.”
What was it that she said? “Destabilization” of the Kingdom?
“I do. I just don’t understand it.”
“Why things are the way they are?”
“Something like that.”
“People asked the same things during the time of the Demon Gods. Why did the netherrealms rip open and font demons, devils, and brimstone into the world? Why did they devastate cities, kingdoms, species? There aren’t good answers. It's in the nature of fiends to ruin people and things; to lay waste. Renner mentioned something along those lines for her brother, a deep ill in the hearts of menfolk.”
What? How did she hear that conversation? Has she been laying arcane ears, or is it just her vampirism?
“But that’s so hollow a statement, so weightless.”
“It is, but what else is there to say? The crown prince is a traitor; he’s collaborating with the syndicate and its skulks. That's the extent of it.”
“But he’s the crown prince. This is the Kingdom. Those things are… are-”
“Sacred? Inviolate? Hallowed? Lakyus, those things are the purview of your Gods. Re-Estize has no such divine mandate; House Vaiself was not named as such benefactors of the Gods. They’re fundamentally secular - which, to you, probably seems normal, but I assure you it’s backward and weird. I know you care for your God, your stalwart commitment to your faith, but you know better here. You have more practical experience in the application of what is good, of the utility of morals in the real world than most.”
“This is different.”
“A woman standing by the side of her would-be murderer? A woman whose secret companion waylaid an assassin sent by her brother, and who’s unlikely to receive accolades for it? Sure, it’s different in scope, the sort of emotions it stirs when you hear it. But that’s it. You’re an adventurer. She isn’t. You are of strong blood. She isn’t. You have the freedom to pursue and destroy those evildoers in your midst. She doesn’t.”
“You misunderstand.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not talking about her.”
“Elaborate.”
“What does it say about us? About me?”
“That we’re smart enough to play a numbers game.”
“What? What a dark thing to say.”
“Dark? Maybe, but practical? That we’ll let an evil, horrible man live out a life in comfort and pleasure - or perhaps fall to the hands of his contemporaries - if it means maintaining those of many others.”
“But he tried to kill Renner, he tried to kill my friend!”
“Heroism is not simply the selfish act of putting yourself in danger for others.”
Isn’t it selfless?
“Don’t you mean-”
“I know what I said. The heroism you do is selfish. You and I and the rest of the team are terribly self-centered. Heroism is not just self-sacrifice, interposing yourself between illborn things and the innocent. It’s killing others. Throwing others into the crossfire, whether willingly or not, when you cannot afford to do otherwise. When it will save more than it loses. That is true selflessness.”
“What?! Evileye-”
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
To not defend the weak, to not throw yourself in the path of evil things, is wrong! But practical. We can save people. We can slay or turn back the monsters of the world. How many people would be left to die in your numbers game? If we thought like that about the princess, we wouldn’t have teleported. Was it just vanity for her? Some teleportation experiment she could use to get her sorcerous thrills? Probably not, but how can she see things like this? How cold is she?
“I understand exactly. I just don’t agree.”
“At least I gave you a reason.”
“What do you mean?”
“If Rigrit were in my place and you asked that, she would have smacked you upside the head and called you a crybaby.”
She’s not wrong.
“That’s probably true.”
“Actually, I think the Princess is far more intelligent than we give her credit for.”
Far more- what? She’s the most intelligent person I know.
“Huh? Evileye, I don’t know what you-”
“Her brother tried to kill her, yet she’s not seeking revenge.”
“Didn’t we already establish that?”
“Er… let me think.”
Evileye hung. Seconds passed, then nearly a full minute. Evileye reached up to her face, and in a move Lakyus didn’t expect, removed her mask. As they were approaching from the east, her hood was enough to shield her face from the daylight. Flipping it around, she clasped it in both hands, holding it low. Lakyus couldn’t see her face, though it wasn’t hard to guess she was evaluating her outer visage. Lakyus realized that it was no longer its pristine white; rather, a system of blackened and scorched channels webbed it. They were of equal width, weight, and color, breaking off from the once miniature slits through which once marked its eyes. Damage of similar kinds had accumulated on all of her clothing, her once cleancut robes tattered, and bodysuit pockmarked with holes. Streaks of her blond hair gently swung with the gait of her horse.
“Hm, nevermind. Dismiss the thought.”
“That was a long time to say nothing.”
“Yeah… I don’t- I don’t know how to express what I’m thinking. She is… unique.”
“You don’t say?”
“Shut up.”
Evileye refastened her mask. Lakyus clicked her tongue, entirely unsure how to read her companion’s actions, much less her show of vulnerability. She looked around some more, snagging on the sight of a few of their sleipnir wandering the field.
Ah, that’s right. Gagaran readied them before we left. Nice to see they’re well trained enough not to run away.
Lakyus held up her right hand and snapped her fingers, whistling as she did. Catching the beasts’ attention, she pointed toward the keep. They lifted their heads, snatching a last few bites of grass, before trotting over. Lakyus watched them as they walked further ahead, spotting a carriage parked outside. She tilted her head at the site, before she filled with realization
Ah, that’s right; Fenthrop.
Lakyus had, for the most part, forgotten about the Count. His shocking confession of high treason and subsequent bargaining for forgiveness through spilt intel served as a small blip in their minds. Only twenty paces away now, Lakyus watched as a knight tentatively rounded the corner of the keep, him shouting and jubilating at the sight. Two other knights ran into vision, and as the Blue Roses finally arrived in front of the entrance, a discombobulated Fenthrop lurched through the door.
“Gods above, you’re back. You’re back! We saw the marks on the ground and we were so worried.”
More like afraid, no?
“Yeah, yeah. We are.”
“Where were you? We heard the commotion, found the door open, and you were gone!”
“Count, I don’t have the energy for this.”
“What?”
“Look, you did it, ok?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The King is saved.”
“What?!”
Lakyus dismounted, the rest a moment later. She turned, spotting the wakeful of the two twins.
“Tina!”
“What?”
“He’s going to badger us with questions, you field them.”
“Yes, Evil Boss.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“No, Evil Boss-”
“Fiendish Leader.”
“I wasn’t even talking to you!”
“Lady Aindra-”
“Count, we traveled to Re-Estize to save His Majesty from an assassination- Actually, what have you done with that prisoner of ours.”
“We’ve kept him alive. My man didn’t think he was going to live, so I gave him one of the healing potions.”
Oh, that’s actually quite helpful.
“That’s good, thanks. Where is he?”
“We still have him tied in his chair.”
“Food and water?”
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“Of course!”
“Good.”
Lakyus let the stress fade from her back, her body sore from the long ride. She grabbed her horse by its lead, guiding it along to the stable. They would need to keep it until they could travel to Re-Estize with the full takings of their keep. She began to work out the process of moving to the capital.
We’ll need to do four trips, five maybe. A week’s worth of carting back and forth. Shit, that’s gonna be a slog. I hate riding on horses.
“What is this business about an attempt on the King?”
“We foiled it. You’re probably fit to return to E-Pespel.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, we’ll discuss details soon. Now, order your men to help us get these horses in.”
That thing I said to Evileye, “You don’t say?” That was ignorant, wasn’t it? She’s what, ten times my age? Does Renner come across as that different to her? That strange? To my question earlier, perhaps the answer is “both.” Something for the good of the Kingdom and for those she cares about. Not serving the self, maybe just rewarding it.
—
Climb feet sank into the quagmire, the feeling of mud between his toes. Drop after drop of rain struck his body, little motes of water pooling on his arms and hair. The feeling of streams running down from his slick hair. He looked round; a few people off in the distance, their silhouettes framed by the mist.
I’m cold.
He reached out, catching some of the downpour in his hand. Flipping it over, he realized he was in his armor. He tugged his mouth to the side, he wasn’t cold at all; water not touching his skin, but simply wicking off of his armor. He turned round and started to walk, the squelches of wet dirt crushed under his boots.
Wait, am I supposed to be on duty?
Climb felt his heart drop.
How could I forget that? My Gods, I’m supposed to be on duty!
His chest felt tight. He had shirked his shift, and he had done it unknowingly. He broke into a jog, then a dash, desperately searching for the palace. The streets began to blend together, turning around and around without finding a clear path forward. He ran, darting from corner to corner, threatening to stumble several times. He ran onto a street that - to his excitement - seemed vaguely familiar.
Wait, it's this way!
He bolted to one end, finding himself on one of the main thoroughfares. He followed the path to the palace. He felt deeply anxious.
What’s going to happen? Gods, I can’t believe I forgot! I’m useless at this stuff. Will Jelka be mad? He will be. How will I explain this to Ekhan? To Jonnah?
A scream. Her scream.
“Princess?”
She screamed again.
“Princess!”
He turned around, spinning in place, trying to find the source. The hair stood on the back of his neck. Whipping in that direction, he spotted an alleyway, and charged toward it. Turning round the corner into it, he dashed down the corridor to Renner’s room. The screaming grew louder. She was in danger.
“Princess! Princess!”
Her screams cut off. He turned again, into her room. There was no guard. The door to her bedroom was open.
“Renner! I’m coming!”
He burst in, seeing that baleful animal on top of her. The mongrel dug into her, its maw soaked in blood. Biting her limp arm, it leaned back on its haunches and tugged, dragging her body unceremoniously off her bed. Climb drew his sword and charged. He tripped on the rug, stumbling over. The world slurried, visions turning hollow and sound dragging farther away.
Climb jerked awake.
—
[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 19]
Thus, to the subject of death.
Renner flicked her eyes from pane to pane, the light that poured through staining the floorboards with color. Depictions of leaping flames, colorful rock strata, a roiling sea, and layers of clouds played across the ground. Renner found their presence quizzical.
We don’t have a native source of those deep blue dyes, no? Why do we even have these windows in the first place? Surely we can all read - whose idea was that? An odd infiltration of the peasantry into our lives. Ah, I wonder what they cost.
The capital was not simply the political center of the Kingdom; rather, it was the core of all aspects of its life. It was home to the foremost halls of each guild - only exceptions being Mining in Re-Blumrushur, Seafaring in Re-Robel, and Adventuring in E-Rantel; the apex of its culinary endeavors, foods mingling from across its borders; the largest nexus of merchant activity west of Arwintar; and to Renner’s current interest, the bastion of its faith. Both those highbloods who had homes there and visiting dignitaries expected degrees of religious accommodation; churches to the Four Gods dotted the space, some minor chapels in service to the Gods of trade and mercantilism, even a modest cathedral to the Six Gods of the Theocracy. Ro-Lente - being a spendthrift construction - contained two halls of worship - both to the Four - one relegated strictly for the garrison in its fortress sections, the other in Valencia itself. Renner had chosen to visit the latter.
I only come here for the solstice and equinox ceremonies. That we have such a thing is strange at all. Do not the visiting dignitaries and faithful men of our country find their own halls of worship in the broader districts? What of visitors? Pray tell Chardelon, what are you even doing here?
Her and Vena had made a route of the morning, having hit a number of shops and businesses, ending their half-day with a restaurant lunch. Renner removed her recently purchased flat-brim as she stepped in through the door. The faith of the Four demanded twice daily worship, though Only the most obsessive of adherents actually bothered to attend both dawn and dusk worship sessions. Thus, Renner’s arrival midday meant the space was near abandoned, only the ministry present. Being a church in the Kingdom’s apex, it was furnished exquisitely.
I’m here to seek answers. Answers to what? To the nature of the angels that nearly waylaid Gazef. To the beyond, to the heavens. To death. To that quaking of the soul I seem so wont to fall to in the face of such divine things. To the constructions of the Gods. To the little gaps that seem to form me. To that specter which overhangs all I do.
Renner rarely visited such places. The presence of such a space in the palace was a hard won concession for the church; Re-Estize and Baharuth alike had irreligious institutions, neither House Vaiself nor the Nix Dynasty allowing any formalized powers to fall into its hands. Her presence here would make for compelling gossip in quieter times, leading to the predictable rumors of conversion. Luckily, times were not quiet, and with the harrowing night that all had experienced, she would be excused a small showing of vulnerability. Noticing Renner’s entrance, an older woman near the altar broke from a triplet of her robed fellows, approaching the rear bench which Renner had sat upon. Her brown hair was tied in two long braids that fell down her front, framing an icon of a candle-flame embroidered upon her vestments.
“Welcome, Your Highness.”
A woman? No, such a thing shouldn’t be surprising. Say what you will about our people’s preference for the male sex, this is not Roble. Their regent is a complicated subject in her own right, but the Faith of the Four finds too slack a hold here to reach for that dismal branch alone. A handhold for me? Implausibly. If such a thing would not work six years ago, how could it now?
The priesthood was an escape from marriage Renner had considered as a girl. Over its rule, House Vaiself had produced four royal priestesses - and likely many more illegitimately. A route a princess could take to avoid matrimonial bond in stable times, she would shed her place in the succession order - already untenably low - to instead dedicate herself to a life of service in the church. This hinged on times being stable, alliances with the church only being prudent to buy when there were no more pressing matters of political stability to attend to. The reign of Foresai was not afforded such peace, a nearly four decade period of sequential crisis.
The idea is stillborn anyway. It would deny me my Climb, a rote impossibility.
“Thank you for having me. I know I’m attending late, or perhaps early.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I hope this day finds you well.”
“You in twain.”
“Actually, it does. That I would be graced by not one or two, but four of the Ryles in such rapid succession.”
Now that’s surprising. I knew Vena had been attending with Pespea, but both my brothers too?
“Eh? You speak in verity?”
“Well, Lord and Lady Pespea have been attending since their arrival; His Highness Zanac came along with Lord Raeven to the evening service-”
Them in twain? I did not think they had built such rapport with each other. Such a thing was an object of mine, but all I did was prod Zanac once. Perhaps they have compatible personalities? An unexpected boon. I put one foot in the door and already I have been bestowed a blessing.
“And then His Highness the Crown Prince came - quite late into the night I might add.”
Akin to me, she’s prodding for answers, beckoning forth “whys” with her “whos”. I have many to give, but none for her. As to my brother’s arrival in the umbra, if it's simple regret over watching the death rendered with his hand, I’ll laugh. What sort of half-wit does one need to be to be goaded into killing friends; what sort of no-wit to cry after?
“So most definitely late. Looks like I’ve been a bit slack in coming, then.”
“I wouldn’t say that, Your Highness. You’ve a purpose for visiting?”
“Would it be an insult if I said it was a flit?”
“Not at all. Would you like to speak in a more private space?”
A power play, trying to drag me deeper into her territory. Bold, very much so. Shame the subjects that grip me are of such a complex make. Thus, let slip the ground and see what lies beyond.
“Indeed, I would appreciate that. A name?”
“Ena, Your Highness.”
Ena… Gelden. I can’t remember her generational, nor her first. Isn’t she simply a spare daughter of a minor barony? Half the madestaff rank higher than her in blood. No, wait. Ena is her first, her address is Haver. Haver Ena… Neli Gelden. Does she expect to call me Chardelon? Comical.
“Thank you. Please, guide me.”
Renner stood, slipping out of the pew. She and the priestess began to walk down the aisle, Renner casting her gaze to more closely observe the images depicted on the windows. There was nothing to snag on, the depictions overwhelmingly simple.
“You didn’t bring your bodyguard, Your Highness?”
Extremely comical. To so casually ask questions of royalty while being only of low-noble blood. The confidence of faithful folk never ceases to amuse me.
“No, he’s off practicing his craft.”
“Really?”
That jumping strike Gagaran taught him, off drilling as usual.
“I’m of no desire to hold him from it. It’s his want.”
The pair reached the front, turning to the side, avoiding the altar to enter a door on its right side. Renner walked into the inner space, a number of small rooms branching off to each side. Ena continued to lead her, entering what Renner presumed was her office. It was a small space, windowless and lit only with a magical light; it was cluttered with books and scrolls, overcrowding shelves until it spilled out onto the floor, then turning into haphazard piles; to the right of the entrance was a private altar, a low flame smoldering in its wrought iron brazier; there was an open book of scripture set at its foot, as well as a small pillow. The acrid scents of incense filled Renner’s nose, she sitting in a chair indicated by Ena, before Ena too sat.
“So, what was it you wanted to speak about?”
“I suppose I did have some questions about… oh, how do I say this? The mechanics of the divine.”
“The mechanics, Your Highness?”
“Yes. Er, if that makes sense.”
“I think so. You wish to know the actual function of things, no?”
“Yes.”
“Ask away.”
“Where to start. I am friends with Lady Aindra, you know of her?”
“You mean the Bladelord, Blue Rose, dedicated adherent to the faith, and adamantite adventurer? The woman who’s bothered to show up to every service in the time between the vanquishing of the enemy and her departure? The one whose valor is fit to enter legends? That Lady Aindra?”
“All correct, again I must ask you to forgive me.”
“It’s no matter. What about her?”
She feels comfortable enough to stop giving proper address? Have I already insulted her? Perhaps I have; already she thinks so little of me. Disappointing.
“Well, she led me and my bodyguard in a prayer.”
“Did she?”
“Yes. I was perhaps… fearful.”
“Hm, Your Highness?”
“Yes?”
“Are you doing alright?”
Lo, she cuts to the heart of the matter. Confidence? No. Dullness? A fair chance.
“That’s the question, no?”
“You faced horrible things that night.”
Such a declarative statement. Still, it's not without merit. Perhaps… vulnerability.
Renner remained silent, after a time, giving a weak nod. Ena let the silence hang for a moment, before leaning forward in her chair, and letting the expression on her face die.
“You’ve been thinking of the beyond.”
“I have. Ena?”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“What does it mean to die?”
“It is to be judged, to be seen by the Gods.”
“Judged for what?”
“For your heart to be weighed on their scales.”
“The heart?”
“Its guilt. What it bears, what it’s seen. What it knows of itself. To be known, wholly and utterly.”
The thought of that infuriates me. Surely there are those who create earthly works while saddled with unburdened guilt. What of Climb? His mind is surely yet to process his kill. Would such a system of judgment damn him? What an absurd statement.
“What of deeds?”
“Deeds matter, decisions of moral care or ruinous abandon. Minor ills will escape them, but mortal crimes? The Gods will not forgive nor forget acts like that. Grand betrayals, murder, adultery. For your deeds to be counted in full, then weighed, then totaled. Those whose deeds were virtuous, and whose hearts were too, will pass through to better places. Of those not, other fates lie waiting.”
Her speech is completely incoherent. If it is one’s innate goodness that matters, the internal perception of your acts, what of supreme criminals who act completely without bearing or reference to morals? What of my brother? If he does not mark himself in her words, a betrayer and a murderer, then what does it say of him or his judgement? Where lies the threshold of truly horrid sins? She has provided nothing. Where do I fall in such a rendering? Coming here was truly useless, wasn’t it? Damnable. To prod.
“What of those who have committed horrible crimes despite their good nature?”
“The Gods see that as an indicator of imprudence, a sloth of evaluation, a failure to follow the teachings they passed down to us. Kindness means naught when not married with adherence.”
Really? What of those not granted the powers of perception, or of intellect? Is not the vast majority of mankind born to such a lack? No, that the Gods so sparingly doled out when they formed us from dust and blood. To be indicted for deficiencies they put into us? Who wouldn’t that mark an ingrate? Surely my father for his alliance with Blumrush, Jelka who failed through no cause of his own, Climb for his failure to detect Teloran after the critical moment had passed. Posit the inverse.
“What of those who hold vileness in their hearts, but spend their lives doing good works none-the-less?”
“If they are as you say, vile, their actions will always be stained by that. Always be tainted. They will find selfish routes in openly selfless deeds. There is no height to their actions, only empty words. They find no different fate.”
What new class of absurdity is this? Does not this destroy all practical advancement of others to serve the self? Is a noble that paves the roads in their demesne suddenly declared a person of avarice for the increase in taxes it will bring? Any action can be marked thus. Finally, the inverse mirror.
“And what of someone who commits sin with knowledge, yet without care or regret?”
“There are no such people. Those who do flit the Gods willingly and knowingly are nothing but fools.”
What a premature conclusion. To say such people do not exist. It's an impossible statement! Pray tell, have I not created fabrications of similar nature? I speak falsehood for the sake of this kingdom, no? What of my conversation with Lakyus? Had I made mention of Keveleos, would things not have fallen apart? A foolish ideology. Speak, Ena. Speak of me.
“There are none that do so with knowledge of fate?”
“Your Highness, you speak of fiends; rotten and hollow things from the deep places. You needn’t worry about such monsters, or of their fates. I promise, you’re safe in a place like this.”
Rotten and Hollow. Unwieldy concepts, I choose to give no ground. Thus, retaliation.
“I don’t know if I am.”
“Only the sulfurous and sepulcher need fear about the aegis of the Gods. Creatures like that will simply be reaped, and their sowers slain.”
I care no longer to lace my words with polite terms, only to set them in such.
“I was not speaking of distant things.”
The meaning of Renner’s words played across Ena’s face in waves, first confused, then shocked, and finally a recomposure. Renner kept her gaze level and solemn, her inner face twisted in a dark smile. She had grown truly tired of this conversation. Ena opened and closed her mouth several times, before rallying in a change of subject.
“Thus, to the Gods. You know of them?”
“You must forgive me, for I have not memorized their many names.”
“I know not one who knows all.”
“Truly?”
“Even Him whom I throw my devotion behind, the Stalwart Torch, I know not all the names of. You must understand, they are multifaceted beings. They are the world, every aspect of it.”
“What of their arrival, their palace in the world when they came?”
“What do you mean?”
You really had no clue what I meant when I said mechanics, do you?
“Their historicity.”
“I suppose I don’t understand.”
“They possess the Godheads, yes?”
“Indeed, they do.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why?”
“What are you saying?”
“Why do they possess the Godheads? ”
“Forgive me, Your Highness, I struggle to understand.”
“They existed, yes?”
Ena started, before vestiges of frustration began to creep into her gaze. She repositioned back in her chair.
“What do you mean?”
“They existed in the world when we did.”
“Their mortal avatars.”
“They held their powers, all the aspects of their divinity, correct? They wrought works here, built nations and kingdoms, saved humanity again and again, passed on their messages, their commandments and instructions. They gave us the essence of them, the expressions of their divinity. The prayer that Lakyus led and the material effect it had on me; the angels that would have slaughtered the Warrior-Captain, they held blades and thrust them into him; the ravages of the world centuries ago and the monsters they stopped; those were all wholly real, yes?”
“Yes, but-”
“We do not live in a world of phantasm, but there are many other things that are material, phenomena that bind and mystify none-the-less. Why do they hold their divinity, their status?”
“Because they are the Gods.”
“Yes but we know that how?”
“What?”
“Forgive me for my vulgarity, but are there not things of similar scale in scope? How can we tell the difference? What fonts from the mouths of the Sunlit Scripture- er, if you heard of such matters.”
“Those heretics of Slane who harmed Gazef?”
“Did they not sing those angels into being? They worship… oh, who is it? The paramount God of the Six.”
“That damnable lie of Alah Alaf.”
“Yes! Tell me, Ena, why did seraphim form by their expression? If there are Four-”
“If? You’re saying you believe otherwise?”
“Eh? Nothing of the sort. I simply do not understand.”
“Then explain, meticulously.”
“Where could they have abounded from if not the Gods? Worse, what of the beastmen and their idols?”
“What?! I don’t see cause to bring-”
“Do they not worship? Do they not throw themselves at the ground in light of their faith? Do they not have shamanic rights akin to our own? They do, and those too have expression as physical things; the sealing of wounds, the blight of fields, they happen. If it is our Four who hold supreme power over the world, if it is our Four who are untouchable by all other subjects, why do they let stand any challenge to their supremacy?”
“Because they are the Gods!”
“Need we lead ourselves in circles on this matter?”
“What you ask is sacrilege, Your Highness.”
And such a simple question we have no answer to.
“My apologies, may be marked remiss.”
“Indeed. I have little more to say. I expected a conversation on the topics of providence and… love, not this.”
“How so?”
“To find you using such a knife of- of- of malediction.”
A knife?! You are accusing me of stabbing at thyne faith when I asked only the barest of questions? This was not a serious effort at such, and yet I have dismembered you. Perhaps I am a huntress, though what sort of dullard is absent the knowledge of their very vocation? May I be “Renner the Baffled.” Well, if I have so slipped steel betwixt your innards, why not twist?
“How horrid! Lady Geldon, please find it in your heart to accept my regrets and apologies. I did not mean to quagmire your day in such burdenful subjects. I have simply been sent spinning anew at everything that happened, I did not mean to- to burden…”
Ena’s face twisted again, now to a far more clear expression of guilt.
“I accept. I apologize too. This was not an issue I had with His Highness.”
“You speak of my dear Igana?”
“No, he passed up my opportunity for council. Rather, your eldest brother.”
It took the whole of Renner’s composition to avoid bursting into laughter.
Lo, he falls! He falls and he falls and he falls! He does feel true guilt! He is truly witless! What a tangential thing to have confirmed. I spoke earlier of how foolish it was to come here, but nay! My time here paid greater dividends than anything short of being told I was Godkin. Hilarity unbound! He feels guilt, he regrets this! Brother, you have not simply reaped your demise, but resown every seed and cutting you yielded! What new doom will sprout?
“And that I find myself slower than him in such matters. Ah, a shame I don’t understand.”
I… I hate him for it. That he would be given such gifts only to squander them - only to languish. To fall apart in a dynamic and spectacular way, only seek comfort in the breast of an unwitting charlatan.
“Something like that.”
Such rude things she says without a care in the world. Has she forgotten I’m royalty? Surely she has.
“Well, I’ll leave you be.”
“Perhaps- perhaps you can find the will to return another time?”
“I wouldn’t make good company. Such matters seem wholly above me.”
“At least take a copy of the scriptures!”
“A copy? Alright.”
I no longer care for the venture she parades. To preach at the gallows, earning desperate converts in the dusks of their lives. There is nothing behind her words but rabid ignorance, a lack of wisdom paved over with guile. I say now with certainty that the Gods are empty fonts, no more substantive than the maddest wiles of leylines, the thickest mists of Katze, or the most solvent-rich scars of the dæmon scourge. I strip them of their Godhead, of their exaltation. Mark it a fundamental thing of our world, and they simply interlopers to its title.
Renner stood and patted the creases out of her dress. Ena hastily snatched a book off the floor, and after dusting it off, pushed it into Renner’s arms. Renner folded it under her right, and after retrieving her hat, she walked out.
Ah, in my zealotry, I left a thing unturned. If the Gods were truly crude beings, historical and nothing more, then how were they fashioned? In garish terms, where lies their origin?