All of the men bowed out of both awe and appreciation, for the quality of life within the palace dropped significantly whenever the enchantments of the estate lost their power. Such a thing had been fairly common during the forty years that the previous Archbishop had lived here, regardless of what Brennan had said, though Maels planned to make such things an object of memory now that he had taken charge. This way, Brennan couldn’t send subtle insults in his direction as he had earlier on.
Maels ended the conversation with a bittersweet smile, looking down at the boy with a regretful sigh. “Then I shall begin.” He drew an oval over the body’s chest, slowly as he imbued some inner energy into his finger. “Hear me, Lucian, Father of All. I, your humble, loving servant ask that you lend us your guidance as we seek salvation for this lonely soul. For the sake of atoning for the Original Sin of his ancestors, this child has made the ultimate sacrifice so that he may hear your loving Voice in the Higher Heavens, and that he may live forever after in your sacred company.”
As his energy began to circulate throughout the boy’s body, the diagram on the floor suddenly lit up with a beautiful, merciful light that looked as if it had been a gift from the sun itself. Coinciding with this reaction was a similar burst of light that rose up from the chest of the corpse, this one of a lesser vibrancy than that which surrounded it.
The servants mirrored Maels as he drew an oval over his own chest, the ceremony coming to an end after he recited a final string of short prayers. With this, the boy’s soul would be considered for absolution once it moved on to the afterlife, something that wasn’t believed possible for the souls of Inverted peoples unless they were blessed by an agent of Lucian immediately following their passing regardless of any attempts to repent throughout their lifetimes.
The servants removed the body from the slab’s surface and made to leave the room, but Maels stopped them with an extended hand.
“Where will you bury him?”
The men exchanged looks of confusion, the beady-eyed, sallow-faced servant taking initiative to answer once again. “We were going to dispose of him in the same manner as usual. That is, we usually just leave their bodies in the woods to the south of the estate. There are plenty of critters in those parts that will make quick work of him.”
Maels shook his head. “If I recall, there’s a small grove in those woods that’s quite well known in these parts. From now on, any Kets that give their lives for our sakes are to be buried there in traditional fashion.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace. But a traditional burial, for a Ket?”
“If Lucian truly does absolve the sins from their souls, then we would be insulting our Lord by treating them like sinners. I don’t know about you all, but the last thing that I would ever want to do is offend Lord Lucian.”
Unable to refute his logic, the men shared a hesitant frown before they all nodded in acquiescence and then excused themselves from the room.
How long had it been since the followers of the Faith had begun to selectively adhere to the dogmas and principles that defined the Lucian doctrine? Maels lamented over the deterioration of religious values that had been eating away at the Empire’s ruling classes in recent decades. That he had been born into this era, he thought, was a sign that Lucian had selected him as an instrument of correction, as a caring hand with which to mold future generations of faithful followers. After what he’d discovered in his rooms the other day, he was further convinced that this was the case.
These days, deviations from traditional practices had become quite common. Whether they were the highest ranking cardinals or the lowest members of the clergy that were subordinate to the deacons, gone were the days that the gifted healers of the church would tend to the sick and wounded out of the goodness of their hearts. Nowadays one was expected to offer a sizeable donation in such situations, and if one could not afford to make said contribution then they were simply ignored and left to their fates. It was even becoming more popular to provide donations to the priests that oversaw the blessings of the deceased in order to assure that lost loved ones gained entry into the High Heavens, which was blatantly in contradiction with the Lucianist idea of earning one’s admittance by leading a good and just life.
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It truly is a sad state of affairs.
Maels cleared his mind and enjoyed a few moments of solitude before he collected his thoughts and then strode back out into the hallway with silent steps. Not long after, he sent for some of his more familiar servants to which he delegated a series of important matters with the promise of generous rewards upon their completion, after which he supped in the dining hall with several senior priests that had been working under him for over a decade. All of these old subordinates seemed to be enjoying their time in the Whitestone Palace, free as their schedules had been in recent weeks.
Once he’d finished his meal, Maels returned to his quarters with a rising sense of anticipation that seemed to tickle his gut with an odd note of giddiness. Just a short while longer and he would be back in his room, back in that comfortable little study where he could analyze the personal notes of one of history’s most infamous and influential minds.
Entering into his bedchamber—one of four rooms that made up his quarters—Maels didn’t bother changing his clothes and rushed straight to his private study. Mind on the trove of notes that sat in a hidden compartment behind the main bookshelf, he couldn’t help but allow himself a wide smile.
It seems Lucian has seen fit to bequeath me with such a gift.
That he had been assigned to Karolen of all places, that he had accidently discovered a concealed mechanism in the backing of the bookshelf after a failed attempt at altering an old magic spell; he could only interpret this as a sign from his Lord to familiarize himself with the hidden wealth of knowledge that was likely only known to him in all of this world.
Yes, he thought excitedly as he strode across the room to stare at the blank sheets of parchment that sat atop his otherwise empty work desk. If I can learn those forgotten magics then my mission in this life will surely come to fruition. Feeling a sudden shift in the magical energies around him, he maintained eye contact with the desktop and then casually took a seat in the cushioned chair by its side. Tsk. Did you truly think you could spy on me so blatantly?
As a sixth-tier magus, Maels was one of the most capable magi in the empire, easily in the top one percentile. For someone like him, sensing the two spells that were currently at work within his study wasn’t too difficult, especially with the supplementary rings that he wore on his fingers that raised the sensitivity of his magical awareness by a great degree.
Acting oblivious to the unexpected intrusion, Maels took out the parchment that Count Brennan had given him earlier and pretended to look it over with eager eyes. Hmm, a light projection spell and a concealment spell? There were traces of a familiar aura on the magical energies at play within the large room, however masterfully they might have been masked. While he had to admit that the dual casting of high magics was quite the impressive feat, such things were still beneath his own skillsets.
“After spending years abroad in service to faith and empire, here you sit still hard at work. You truly are just like your father.”
The old, raspy voice that filled his ears contained the same superficial warmth that Maels had always disdained. Feigning surprise and a bit of displeasure—a reaction that his unexpected visitor would surely expect—Maels stood from his chair, turned around and gave a deep bow to the ghostly image that had appeared at his back.
“Your Eminence,” he said, false reverence in his voice. “To send a light projection so far from the capital is no small feat, especially one that can transmit sound. To say that I’m surprised would be an understatement.” While only cardinals and the pope were usually referred to with such honorifics, as a Patriarchal Archbishop, or a very prominent overseer of an archdiocese, Vestach was something of an exception.
“It’s nothing much. I don’t doubt that you’ll eventually be able to do the same, given enough time.”
Although he was already capable of commanding such magics, Maels adopted an appreciative expression. “Thank you for your praise.”