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Thorn-Cursed Cultist
Chapter 14 - My Fault

Chapter 14 - My Fault

The day after he’d finished studying the reports, Gerald knocked politely against the door to Anna’s quarters. A vicious shout came from inside: “I told you, go away!”

He cleared his throat. “[Acolyte] Anna, it’s Gerald.”

It swung open. Anna stood there, tear-streaked and furious. Her sour expression didn’t vanish when she saw him standing there, but it did soften.

“You made it,” she said. “I’m...”

Glad you survived? But she didn’t have the heart to say it. An unexpected awkward pause hung in the air.

Gerald managed to paper a smile over his grimace.

I’m her superior within the Emissaries’ caste system, at least until she reaches Rank 2. I hadn’t considered it until now. Of course she’s uncomfortable! Her whole life, she’s been told that she belongs above [Penitents]. Then I humbled her and even surpassed her Rank. The fact she holds no resentment for me is both a stroke of luck and a testament to her character. I can’t expect it from the other [Acolytes].

“I’m here to discuss the details of our coming expedition to Undergrowth.”

“Oh,” she said, schooling her expression into impassivity. “Of course. Can I offer you some water? I understand wine is off the table.”

“Yes, water would be appreciated. I stayed up far too late while planning our route... forgot to care for my more mundane needs.”

Gerald didn’t comment on her tears. What she needs right now is normality. He plopped himself down on a wooden chair and thanked Anna for the offered mug. She hovered about like a nervous dragonfly.

“Please, [Acolyte] Anna. Sit. I know our relationship has been mostly formal, but this is a time of celebration for me— and a moment of opportunity for you.”

She did so. Now the anxiousness in her expression was mostly hidden behind a veneer of professionalism.

Normally, I’d find something to reprimand her for. It would put her off-balance socially, and I’d be able to establish a dominant position to negotiate from; this is essential, as I plan to uplift two [Acolytes] to Rank 2. They’d outrank me afterwards, so I need some kind of leverage...

Gerald watched Anna nervously tap the sides of her armchair. Auburn hair framed her sharp, businesslike face. Her eyes were the same blue as...

She looks so much like my daughter.

Do I really need to manipulate her? It’s a lot of effort, and it might end up souring our dynamic rather than fostering loyalty. And...

Gerald sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I feel so heavy, [Acolyte] Anna. I hope you never have to understand. it’s my...”

He trailed off.

She tilted her head. “But Blessed don’t get aches in old age like regular people. In the absence of Injuries, our bodies fail all at once. It’s why Father Ache’s blindness is speculated to be part of a Boon or a mystical wound. Since class powers never come with explicit downsides.”

Gerald smiled placidly. “Oh. I wasn’t aware of that.”

There was another pause. This time, only Anna found it awkward.

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“[Acolyte] Anna,” Gerald started. “I plan to bring you to Rank 2 before the other [Acolyte] in our expedition. You’ll capitalize on that head start and never fall behind them. Is that clear?”

The surprise on her face was overtaken by unguarded delight. “Yes! I mean- Yes, [Penitent] Gerald. But how will you do it? You can’t guarantee we’ll meet a Rank 1 on the road to Undergrowth, and once we’re in the city proper they’ll be everywhere! You won’t be able to stop the others from dueling at that point.”

“I don’t plan to rely on chance encounters. This kind of journey is simply dangerous for Rank 1 [Penitents]. If one of ours happens to sustain an Injury—and trust me, that’s nearly guaranteed—we will have little choice but to sacrifice them to you and return for reinforcements.”

She blinked. “Wise and expedient.”

Gerald felt strangely dissatisfied. My daughter should have more compunctions.

“But,” she went on, reading the dissatisfaction on his face, “Are you really okay with endangering others of the same class? Isn’t that a little...”

She gestured vaguely.

Gerald laughed. “[Acolyte] Anna, Rank 1 [Penitents] are nothing like me. If I could accomplish Suzemony while injured and feeble, surely they could do the same if they only had the will!”

Her expression brightened. “I suppose you’re correct about that. Yes... I see. An animal is always an animal, but anything with willpower can become a man on its own inherent merit.”

Gerald suppressed his shudder. You buy into things too quickly! Someone needs to teach you not to be so gullible!

But that someone isn’t me, Anna. It’s great that you’ve learned to separate me from other [Penitents] in your mind. That worldview will serve you well in dehumanizing the others while still remaining an effective partner-in-command to me.

“Say, [Acolyte] Anna, do you know of [Acolyte] Ribb? He’s been assigned to the expedition alongside you. What can you tell me of his temperament?”

Anna bit her lip. “He’s a little strange, but he’s not a bad person. Just make sure to keep his tent away from ours.”

Gerald tilted his head.

“Why so?”

“He fights in his sleep.”

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In the hallowed blue halls of the Orthodoxy, light cascaded through arched windows and kissed throne-room tiles. Rows of [Priests] stood at attention, each clean-shaven and bald. Their solemn lines painted the background.

Upon the central dais stood [Thrombulist] Duncan, fourth of his name. The lines in his face were deepened with worry as he watched the [Priests] conjure holy water into the pool before him. [Scriers] peered into the ripples and waves. Eventually, they marched over to line up in front of Duncan.

Three raised their left hand. None raised their right.

Duncan’s face darkened with fury and grief. He did not speak, except to dismiss the [Scriers]. It was the third time he had requested this ritual from the Farseer’s Union, and the second time he had received the same result conclusively.

My son is dead! He went off to be a [Hero] instead of a [Priest], and died in some backwater!

It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t allowed him to pursue that class... If I had prepared him more thoroughly for the treacheries of the outskirts... If only!

Duncan IV did not grit his teeth. He was too important, now, to rage in public. Moreover, his political rivals were vultures seeking weakness.

“I’m retiring to my chambers,” he told the [Priests] who attended him. They shuffled off, still in rows, moving like caterpillars across the grass.

Duncan walked a familiar route through the Orthodoxy complex and felt more lost than ever before. When he reached his humble room, he locked the door and sighed.

Then he began to scream.

“Argh! Mother-fucker! Piece of rat shit!"

He picked up a chair and smashed it against the ground. He splintered his desk with a mighty slap. He pounced on the bed and shattered its frame.

"It’s not my fault!”

When he stood, not the least bit winded, in a pulverized room, Duncan IV dusted off his robes.

He was investigating reports of a cult, wasn’t he? The Emissaries of Bone... I’ll have them all executed! Put to stake and tortured in miserable manners!

He opened the door and waved a servant over. His face was once again stone.

“I’m of a mind to file for Holy War. Bring the paperwork. And I would like to redecorate; find me a new bed and... a chest of drawers, perhaps.”