by Ben Galley
‘Liria and Yaridin, if I’m not mistaken,’ muttered Nilith. ‘It’s been some time.’
Farazar growled. ‘The very same.’
‘Release them,’ the sisters chorused, pointing to Nilith and me, though they quickly realised I’d already shed my manacles. I held my hands up as if they had a triggerbow trained on me. I had assumed my use to the Cult was over now that the Sanctuary was open, haunting or not. Three ghosts in robes scuttled past them and quickly saw to Nilith’s yoke and chains.
‘We see no lock can keep you for long, Caltro,’ said Liria, her face softening slightly.
‘None ever has,’ I replied.
Farazar seemed far from pleased to be left locked up, especially by the Cult. ‘Release me, Sisters! I am your emperor!’ he yelled.
‘You are no emperor, Farazar,’ Yaridin told him, looking down on him like a child might look at a bug before squashing it. ‘You have not been for some time. If you ever were.’
‘Outrageous!’
‘Filthy cultists,’ said Sisine. ‘They have been behind all this. I know it.’
‘Played us both,’ Temsa muttered. He seemed subdued, almost defeated in that moment. Perhaps my words had finally got into that disembodied skull of his. I found it ironic how much they hated each other, yet were bonded by their hatred of the Cult. It could have been useful, had they ever had the wits to put their minds together.
‘Correct, Tor, Empress-in-Waiting. A starving person will do much for a morsel, and you two were hungry indeed.’
The ghosts came with red robes and draped them over both Nilith’s shoulders and mine.
‘Careful now, Caltro. Showing your true colours.’ Hirana narrowed her skewed eyes at me as the sisters and Nilith left the room.
I ignored her, looking to Pointy instead. His pommel stone wore a deep frown. ‘My sword?’ I called after them.
The sisters eyed me from the corridor, measuring me, assessing my intent. They nodded as one, and I reached for Pointy, turning him against his own rope. The threads split at the merest touch of his metal, and the falcon on the floor breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Thank fuck for that,’ he said, closing his eyes.
The heavy door closed with a bang and a crunch of bolts behind us, and we found ourselves in a corridor that had a faint and constant rumble to it. The sunlight was gone, replaced by the familiar ghostly glow of lanterns filled with fluttering insects. The other ghosts withdrew to the ends of the corridor, while Liria and Yaridin stayed with us. Nilith stood apart from us, shoulders heavy with burden, but eyes sharp and awake with suspicion.
‘Our sincerest apologies, Empress. Our brothers and sisters were too eager in their attempts to make sure you were safe. You were not meant to be treated so harshly. You are our esteemed guests, and as Mr Basalt can testify, we treat our guests with the utmost respect.’
I shrugged, unable to deny them but eager to get to the point. ‘Where is my half-coin?’
Neither of the sisters looked at me as they spoke. ‘All in good time, Caltro.’
‘Wait—’
‘Three questions, Sisters,’ Nilith said, holding up three glowing fingers. The rest of her arm stayed hidden under her robe.
‘Ask away, Empress. Though we—’
‘Where are we?’
‘Beneath the Avenue of Oshirim, in Katra Rassan. That rumbling you can hear is the streets above.’
‘The Cathedral On Its Head. Farazar always suspected…’ whispered Nilith, understanding the Arctian. ‘Where is Farazar’s body?’
‘Safe, below us in a sealed chamber that only we have the key to.’
‘And where is my horse?’
‘Also safe, above in our stables. Quite the animal. Extraordinarily protective.’
I wondered how many ghosts had been kicked across the plaza before the Cult had managed to subdue Anoish.
Nilith cleared her throat and began to walk away, down the corridor. ‘You may show me to both, and then you may escort me to the Grand Nyxwell to claim Farazar’s body,’ she said. ‘Interfere and face the consequences.’
‘Have I mentioned how much I admire her?’ Pointy commented in my head.
The sisters had not moved. ‘We plan to do nothing of the sort.’
‘Do you not? Whose soldiers and ghosts apprehended us at the Nyxwell?’
‘Sisine’s forces. Unaware of the… shift, shall we say, in power.’
Nilith stopped. ‘Whose power?’
The sisters smiled. ‘Won’t you walk with us, Empress?’
Nilith was far from convinced. She put a hand to her hip, as if reaching for a sword handle, but realised she was unarmed. Her fists clenched in any case.
‘We know your time is short. Please. A small amount of your time might be worthwhile.’
‘On one condition.’
‘Yes, Empress?’
‘I know the old ways of healing with Nyxwater and the touch of a ghost. I witnessed it first-hand in Abatwe. I want you to heal the falcon.’
Liria and Yaridin shared a look. ‘Empress,’ they said. ‘We found the falcon Bezel beside the body of your daughter. He was the one who—’
‘I’m very aware of what he did,’ Nilith said, a crack in her voice. ‘Heal him. He’s had enough pain.’
Yaridin raised a hand to one of the nearby ghosts while Liria led us forwards, into a stairwell and through a network of ever-burrowing tunnels and steps. The Katra Rassan seemed to be a hive of busyness that day. At junctions in the corridors, teams of shades and hand-carts passed us by, their loads covered in scarlet tarpaulins. Every chamber I glimpsed was host to some sort of activity or another, filled from wall to door with ghosts and red-robed living. Nilith stared about, as baffled as I was by the hustle and bustle, and curious how large the Cathedral was. Her gaze did not stop roving.
Liria stayed silent until she brought us to a wider corridor with an open end. Another rumble filled my ears, though this was not from above, but below. It grew louder as we approached the twisted iron railings of a wooden walkway, and became a dull roar as we emerged. Gusts of air disturbed my vapours, made my robes flap around my legs. Sunlight from above cast veils of spiralling dust motes. Below us was a glowing sea of ghosts and red cloth. They were stacked on every level of the Cathedral’s deep pit. Crowds of cultists flowed like purple rivers around ramps and stairwells and walkways, cascading down each level like waterfalls. Many simply waited, shuffling about as they conversed. Many others still worked away at their frantic errands. I leaned out over the iron railing, and felt dizzy staring into their depths.
‘Welcome, Empress, to the Church of Sesh,’ Sister Liria said softly, barely audible over the roar of the crowds.
Nilith began to chuckle, softly at first, then a loud laugh that echoed through the giant rafters of the Cathedral’s roof. ‘All this time we’ve been fighting amongst ourselves, and you’ve been building your own empire under our noses. You were right, Caltro. This has all been for naught.’
‘On the contrary, Empress. This has all been for peace. This is all for you.’
‘Lies.’
‘We see Caltro hasn’t told you of our intentions.’
I crossed my arms.
‘Oh, he has. He told me it was the Cult that orchestrated much of this chaos. That it is Sisine you plan to put on the throne. Not me.’
Liria sighed, placing her hands on the railing as Nilith had. She followed her gaze down into the crowds. ‘We are not so different, you and the Cult. Though we have alternate methods, we strive for the same result.’
‘And that is?’
‘Peace, justice, and freedom for all. We too believe the empire sick, and its poison is indenturement. The Code. The Tenets. We recognise the system is broken, Empress, and people like Temsa, Hirana, and, with respect, your daughter, are content to keep it broken. We want to heal it, as you do.’
‘But you worship chaos.’
‘We worship the god of death. Of change. Chaos is but Sesh’s tool.�
�� Liria turned to face the empress, and Nilith met her gaze. ‘We tried many years ago, when you were but fresh to the Arc, barely Emperor-in-Waiting Farazar’s wife. We had hoped to breed the idea of freedom in Milizan, but your husband thwarted us, drove us out. For two decades, we have watched Farazar drive the empire into decline, waiting for an opportunity not for revenge, but for change.
‘The Church of Sesh trades in information, and after gathering all our knowledge together, we knew another ruler was needed. We originally chose you, Empress. According to our spies, you have never been the Arctian that Farazar expected, riling against every Code and Tenet that stood in your way. We had planned to help you ascend to the throne, but when you disappeared, Empress, our plans changed. Like the rest of the city, we believed you had fled back to Krass, finally tired of your inept husband. We knew your ambitious daughter would make a move on his Sanctuary, and that she longed to make a name for herself. We assumed, perhaps wrongly, that her ambition could be used for good. And so, through Etane, we introduced her to the only person in Araxes with ambition enough to match hers: Boss Boran Temsa. He had not only the ambition, but the means. As with many other soulstealers, such as Berrix the Pale, or Astarti, we have been watching Temsa for years. We placed Danib with him when he began to show promise, and a thirst for climbing Araxes’ ladder. We used that thirst, providing him tors and tals with private vaults, showing Sisine that with enough uproar, she could draw Farazar from his Sanctuary and emerge the saviour of the city. She took our example to heart, and the pressure in the city rose to boiling point. We knew Sisine and Temsa would clash eventually, becoming rivals instead of partners. Such minds can never work well with others. By creating a villain in Temsa, we were able to deliver him to Sisine as a gift, giving her a scapegoat she could use to play the hero she longed to be, and patching the rift Farazar put between the city and the Cult.’
Liria paused and I found myself nodding appreciatively. Nilith was content to listen. I could almost hear the cogs of her sharp mind working.
‘For all our years of careful planning, we did not account for several rogue factors,’ Liria continued, holding up three glowing fingers of her own. ‘A vengeful grandmother every Arctian thought banished or dead. The Reaches’ finest locksmith, murdered his first night in Araxes…’
Both women looked at me and I find myself trying to suck in my gut.
‘And you, Nilith Rikehar. A wife who would kill her husband and drag his body hundreds of miles home.’ Liria sighed thoughtfully. ‘You’ve fought hard, haven’t you, Empress?’
Nilith couldn’t help but agree, or so her slumping shoulders and weary blink told me. ‘The question remains: who will ascend to the throne?’
There was a tense pause until Liria broke it. ‘Who would you choose? A rampant soulstealer, thirsty for power and blood, still trying to prove his young self right? A cruel old woman, too consumed with vengeance to remember trust and loyalty? A daughter so full of hate she would ruin an empire just to appear its saviour? Or a woman who would cross a desert twice with the emperor’s body, fighting to heal the corruption of a city that’s not even hers?’
I knew which I’d choose. I could see why these sisters called themselves enlightened. They made a damn fine argument.
Whether tongue-tied, tired or simply waiting for the answer, Nilith stared at the sisters long and hard.
‘We would choose the latter,’ answered Yaridin, emerging from the mouth of the corridor to stare down into the masses. ‘You are Farazar’s rightful killer. The city will not accept any claim but yours, especially given the fact any other candidates are now dead and bound. We can help you take the throne, and you will be free to make the changes you have fought to make.’
Perhaps their ears had been pressed to the door after all.
Liria stepped closer, conspiratorial. ‘We know what you intend to do with your authority, Empress. To bring freedom to shades. It has been a dream of the Church’s for an age, and we would gladly stand beside you upon the dais of the Grand Nyxwell.’
‘You forget this.’ Nilith held up her left fist, shrugging the robe and rags along her arm and casting sapphire light across the balcony’s iron and wood. With her fingers, she dragged away her ragged collar, where blue vapour had now claimed most of the skin of her chest. It was now clawing its way up her neck, the brown of her skin turning to ash and charcoal where life crossed into death.
‘And you forget this,’ said Liria, reaching for Nilith’s other hand; sand, blood, chipped nails and all. Nilith shrugged away, but got the sister’s meaning. ‘Though there is no cure we can offer you, the slatherghast’s poison hasn’t claimed you yet. There is still time.’
‘Half alive is better than half dead. Is that it?’ Nilith spat.
Yaridin conceded with a nod. ‘In the eyes of the City of Countless Souls, yes.’
‘So, I’m your last choice.’
‘No.’ Liria shook her head resolutely. ‘You are our last hope. The city teeters on the edge of ruin. The Nyx has all but dried up. Order has been abandoned. Justice is a long-lost memory. The time is short for it to be saved. It will require sacrifice, but worthy sacrifice.’
The words fell heavy between us. I would have bowed under such responsibility, but Nilith straightened, looking down her nose at the sisters as if spectacles balanced on its tip. It was the most imperious I’d ever seen the woman, and I saw the empress in her rise to the challenge.
‘And here I was expecting to have to fight my way out of a Cult of Sesh dungeon,’ she said.
‘We prefer Church of Sesh, Empress, and we would rather be an ally than an enemy,’ Yaridin said, wearing that thin sisters’ smile. Cold and empty, but a smile nonetheless.
‘Will you let us help you achieve what you want?’ asked Liria, staring deep into Nilith’s emerald eyes, searching them eagerly.
It took the empress some time to answer, her gaze locked on the sisters’. ‘I will,’ Nilith said at last.
‘But the gods, Caltro. The flood…’ Pointy reminded me, deep in the recesses of my mind as if he feared the sisters would hear him even within my skull. Perhaps he was right; Liria turned to look at me, beckoning as Yaridin led Nilith along the walkway. A series of zigzags in and out of the earthen walls brought us to a set of stairs leading to a long, drawn out platform. Suspended by a series of golden chains, it thrust out into space, almost to the centre of the great pit that was the Cathedral On Its Head. The sheer breadth of space between the flimsy wooden cladding of the platform and the glowing depths dizzied me, and I had fallen from the tip of the greatest spire known to humanity.
‘Farazar will fucking love this,’ Nilith said, adopting a weary smile. ‘What now?’ she asked.
For once, the sisters held their tongues and simply gestured to the empty platform. Nilith took a step forward, realised I hadn’t moved, and waved a hand for me to follow. I wanted to gulp. I stayed where I was, unable to help craning my neck to peer over the edges of the walkway, like a morbid urge to run your finger along the knife, just to test its edge…
‘Caltro.’ Nilith beckoned to me again, and I did as I was told.
I followed closely behind her, nervous, and unavoidably mindful of the last royal I had teetered on the edge of a great height with.
Nilith strode out before me, as if this was the very least of the challenges she had faced in the Arc’s deserts. I wondered if they would make my tribulations as pale as sun-bleached papyrus. I had no choice but to join her at the strict, bare edge of the platform, where we leaned over to feel the cold draughts of air swirling up the jumbled tiers of Katra Rassan.
Before we had realised their presence, Liria and Yaridin called out from behind us as one. I almost tumbled over in shock.
‘Presenting the new ruler absolute of the Arctian Empire, Empress Nilith Rikehar Renala!’
The roar that filled the Cathedral was so thunderous I half expected the rafters and sunlight to come crashing down. Swathes of ghosts fell to their knees, like
fields of corn bending before the oncoming storm. Those wearing breastplates or bearing shields beat their swords against their metal, giving an avid heartbeat to the massed crowds of dead. As they swayed and bellowed, they became one great beast, hungry for action.
‘Finally, we shall have our freedom! Sesh be praised!’ the sisters chorused, their words echoing around the chamber and bringing the voices to deafening levels.
I watched as Nilith raised her hands to the crowds, drinking in their praise and cheers like a warlord atop a conquered castle. I watched her wide eyes flit about the masses, watching them bow and punch the air with their fists. Perhaps not the victorious moment she had imagined, deep beneath the earth with the fanatics of the Cult, but she had earned it.
As the roaring continued unabated, Liria and Yaridin led us back to the shadow of the walkway.
‘Tomorrow, Nilith, you will stand at the Grand Nyxwell. The Church will make sure of it!’ said the sisters, shouting over the noise.
‘The last stores of Nyxwater are being prepared to refill the well.’
‘Chamberlain Rebene has already been informed of your return.’
‘The Chamber of the Code stands with you.’
‘As do the shade soldiers Sisine put upon the streets.’
‘And the brothers and sisters of the Cult are at your disposal.’
Nilith bowed her head.
‘For now, you may rest,’ added Yaridin. Ghosts appeared unbidden from a nearby archway of sandstone, red as their robes. ‘Our brothers and sisters will lead the way.’
As the ghosts gathered about her, Nilith cast me a look over her shoulder. ‘Maybe it’s time to stop running,’ she called to me, with a grim nod. No sooner had the ghosts appeared than they vanished into the warren of Katra Rassan, and I was left alone with the sisters, one hovering at each of my shoulders.
