“I didn’t answer. Far too warm for my blood.”
They reached the opening. He could tell by the sound of footsteps and the chilly draft.
“Here, Father. Your staff.” Nauriyal unfolded the fingers of his right hand and placed it inside. He gave it a few good taps. An unremarkable stick or an ornate staff adorned with a crystal orb worth more than a small village—it didn’t matter. It all worked the same for him, and this particular cane with its Eye of Iam carved into the top earned him a shred of beleaguered respect.
“Thank you. But please, stay with me. I need you to take me to the Chamber.”
“For what?” Nauriyal asked.
“We need to gather all of the writings on demonic possession that we can find.”
“Demonic… possession?”
“Yes, my dear. While these old men have been locked up here praying and worrying about the Shesaitju, the Buried Goddess has been quite busy breaking open and emptying Elsewhere. She’s possessed thousands of men and women in the East… and I fear, killed thousands more.”
“That’s insane.”
“Quite. Yet still, undeniably true.”
Her grip on his arm tightened. She said nothing but continued leading him down Hornsheim’s stone halls. Every clack of his cane echoed loudly against the stark, unadorned walls.
Hornsheim was designed for blind old men with walking sticks. A simple layout, easy to memorize. Dellbar could remember it from even back when he was but a lowly monk and still had sight of his own. He didn’t need Nauriyal to help him find the stairs down to the Chamber of Light—a library buried beneath the central altar. It was nice to have someone with him, however. Made him look like he was just trying to stretch out his limbs while he recovered.
Every soul who passed greeted him with a ‘Your Holiness.’ They stopped and bowed and, he imagined, circled their eyes in prayer, even if they didn’t respect him. It helped him understand why the elders who fought to be named the next High Priest coveted the position so. A lifetime of dutiful service and serving the whims of their unseen God… it was a chance to finally be seen.
Dellbar listened as they moved, ears attuned to even the tiniest of sounds. By the way voices carried upward, he knew they passed the central altar. A low chorus of murmured prayers rippled like waves along a beach.
Then stairs, lots of stairs, spiraling down into the earth. The irony wasn’t lost to him that the Holy Order kept their most prized writings down where their enemy was buried.
He was reminded of Iam’s words from his dream. “One cannot be without the other.” The simplicity of that statement astounded him. Despite bearing witness every single day to nightfall, the church existed to bring Iam’s Light to all corners. Even the holiest of days, the Dawning, celebrated the rising of the sun from a year’s last night.
“He had to mean something else,” Dellbar said to himself.
“Who did?” Nauriyal asked.
“What? Nobody.”
“Do you always talk to yourself?” she asked. While the words sounded rude, her tone didn’t. It was an honest question from an honest person. A woman who never hid her horrid origins even when nobody here would have asked.
“No different than praying.”
“Father!” she yelped.
“What?” he said. “Do you really believe Iam has the time to listen to all of us?”
“You’re a very unusual High Priest, do you know that?”
“Well, how many have you met?”
She fumbled over an answer. Not long after, their feet slapped down on a rough surface. The chill down in Hornsheim’s undercroft was unmistakable. Not only books and scrolls dwelled down here, but crypts for hundreds of people of the cloth who’d spent their lives in service dating back to the God Feud.
All the knowledge they might have known, preserved only by a few who wrote things down. Dellbar almost wished he was an ancient necromancer that could bring them back to life and interrogate them. How did they defend against dark magic when such a thing was prevalent—when mystics performed experiments that defied all sanctity of life?
“Sister Nauriyal, what are you doing here?” asked yet another old man. Keeper Jorlin, was his name. Around even when Dellbar was young. The way his voice wheezed through his lips, he was probably around when half the tomes were written.
“Keeper Jorlin, His Holiness, High Priest Dellbar has asked me to collect all writings on…” She cleared her throat and looked to Dellbar, who nodded. “…Demonic possession.”
“Has he? And what need would anyone have for those?”
“More need than collecting dust down here,” Dellbar said.
It was now Jorlin’s turn to clear his throat, and his had far more phlegm. “Those are prohibited texts. I—“
“Will adhere to the wishes of your High Priest. I assure you, it is Iam’s work.”
“I… yes, Your Holiness. Sister Nauriyal, would you care to help me? They should be in the backroom. And please, grab the torch, but be careful with it around the old parchment. These old eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“At least you have them,” Dellbar remarked.
Jorlin muttered someone under his breath. Nauriyal hesitated to let Dellbar go, but he shooed them along and leaned on a column to wait. He didn’t last long. Noticing a rhythmic clank echoing from down a hall, his tired legs began limping that way.
He tapped his staff along the floor in time with the sound until he found a path where the unmistakable sound of iron on stone grew louder, only, nobody mined down here.
“Aye, ye can’t be down here!” a man shouted from a bit up the hall, his accent distinctly of South Corner, Yarrington.
Dellbar didn’t stop. “I could say the same to you. I know a man of Iam when I hear one.”
“We’re here—“ The man released a strange, gurgling sound. He fell to his knees hard. “Your Holiness, I didn’t realize.”
“Stand up. That’s quite all right.”
“You must be here to examine the expansion of the western crypt,” he said, speaking fast like nervous men commonly do. Someone from South Corner likely hadn’t ever spoken with a noble in all his life, and while Dellbar wasn’t noble in any sense of the word, his title put him on the Royal Council.
“Sure,” he said.
The mason started to lead him, the clack-clack, clack-clack growing ever louder. “Was supposed to be a crew of dwarves hired by that new miniature Master of Coin.” He chuckled at his own joke. “But they never showed so, we’re it. Taking a little longer than expected…”
“Good work takes time.”
“That it does. At least they sent a giant with us. Makes things easier with him hacking away at the rock.”
“A giant, really? Way down here?” The corridor expanded into a large chamber, judging by how his words carried. And it was a bit warmer from heat emitted by an unclear number of masons.
“Yeah, he—“
The mason was cut off by a deep, cavernous voice. “Mister Father Morningweg?” a giant said, lumbering over each syllable in every word as if they were a real challenge. A whiff of foul breath soon followed. The giant tossed aside an oversized tool with a crash and a flurry of yelling from human masons. His footsteps shook the earth as he stomped over. The vibrations disoriented Dellbar, and before he knew it, a pair of hands the size of tree-trunks wrapped around his back. Surprisingly enough, the giant’s touch was gentle.
“Me haaaaaaappy I seeee you,” he said.
“You too…” Dellbar strained to say. Even a gentle giant crushed the air out of his lungs. Then, seeming to notice, the giant let go.
“Remember meeeee?” he asked, backing away so that his wretched breath washed right over Dellbar’s face. “Remember meeeee?”
“Of course! It’s… uh… Ahl… Ul…”
“Uhlvark!” the giant exclaimed. “You dooooo. I tell all I know you. The High Priest.” Those last words were said with more reverence than all the priests combined had m
ustered.
“Yeah, yeah,” the mason groaned. “You two seem like best friends.”
Of course he remembered the giant that Valin Tehr kept locked up in his underground arena, forcing him to kill just to eat. He was impossible to miss. He didn’t, however, remember them ever talking. Though, he imagined that was more thanks to his own drunken state than a dull giant making up stories. They were honest beings, often to a fault.
“Uhlvark, it’s good to see you again,” Dellbar said. “And under much better circumstances. Clearly, Iam’s Light favors you.”
“Uhlvark here to build.”
“Well, hitting rock is certainly better than hitting people.”
“What was that?” the mason asked.
“Nothing!” Uhlvark blurted. “He said nothiiiing.” His feet slammed across the rock, as he moved away from the sounds of the workers. “I don’t like to remember thaaaaat.”
“Mmm, yes,” Dellbar said. “My apologies. I don’t like thinking about certain things too.”
“Like whaat?”
Dellbar scratched his chin. He hadn’t noticed until then how sloppy his beard was getting. He was beginning to look like a proper High Priest, gray beard longer than ever.
“Oh, plenty of things,” he said. “Like what the chances are that you and I should wind up underground in another series of dark, stale tunnels.”
“Hmmmmmm.” Uhlvark plopped down with a rumble that nearly flung Dellbar from his feet. “I not know.”
“No, me neither.” His head fell back, and he chuckled. An idea popped into his head for how he could convince a bunch of old, comfortable men to leave the only place they’d ever known. A mad one, but these were mad times. Most of his stay with Valin Tehr was a blur, but he did recall the virility of the giant. How he could crush a man’s rib cage with the poke of a finger or break a spear in half like a splinter.
“Uhlvark, how would you like to perform a special project?” Dellbar asked.
The giant leaned forward, the puff of his nostrils all too loud. “Special?”
“Yes, in the Chamber of Light. I could use your help with something.”
Hours went by. Dellbar sat outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun as it refracted through a crystal onto the side of his face. He was on the lip of Hornsheim’s well, scooping up a bit of water, surprised by the temperature. It met his lips and felt like Iam’s own touch. Said to be the purest water in the Kingdom, Dellbar had to admit it really wasn’t half bad, considering it wasn’t wine or ale.
With his other hand, he patted the top of the tomes and scrolls he’d gathered from the Chamber of Light. Dozens of them. Enough to fill a small cart pulled by a mule or two.
Somewhere in them were answers to how to banish a demonic spirit that had already possessed a being. Or, the answers were somewhere in the heads of one of the elder priests who no longer thought of anything beyond their own concerns. Though, Elsewhere being broken open meant even what once worked might not this time.
He heard Nauriyal approaching before she spoke. She had a certain way about her gait. A strut. Not like the sisters who’d grown up in service of the church, but like one who’d found it late.
“Is it done, Sister Nauriyal?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ve told everyone to convene out here by your word,” she said. “Do you plan to tell me why?”
“You don’t like surprises?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never experienced a good one.”
“Ah, well… I’ve always been a fan. That… flutter in your heart when you aren’t sure what to expect. Sometimes it’s raiders or ambushing armies, but other times, it’s a friend knocking on your door to wish a happy birthday.”
“And are you…” she paused. “Wishing someone a happy birthday?”
He smiled. “Not quite. Now come, sit. You’ve been a great help so far.” She didn’t move quickly, but eventually, she sidled up next to him.
He listened.
Footsteps gathered along with whispers, large groups of them, filing in from all over the monastery. Down steps in the mountainside, up from basements.
“Your Holiness, what is this about?” asked one of the elder priests who’d woken him earlier. They all blended together.
“You really should be resting,” said another.
“If only there was time for rest,” Dellbar said. He turned his head in Nauriyal’s direction, and without needing to be asked, she helped him stand. He then poked the cart of tomes with his cane. “In here, are all the writings we have on possession. A tool of the fallen and the wicked who wish to return to a realm they’ve already left behind.”
What rose wasn’t a collection of murmurs, but jeers, outward hostility.
“You removed them from the Chamber?” an irate priest barked.
“Keeper Jorlin, you let him do this?” scolded another.
“I didn’t give him a choice,” Dellbar said.
“The sunlight could damage those pages! They aren’t even covered.”
“Then get me a blanket,” Dellbar said.
“This isn’t a game, Your Holiness. Please, you aren’t thinking straight. You have—“
“To rest,” Dellbar interrupted. “Because I’m the drunken High Priest none of you wanted. But you see, as much as I’d rather not have this title, I do like one thing about it. It reminded all of you that we don’t exist for our own interests. Our sacred duty isn’t to choose who gets stationed in which city or decide which Lord favors who. It is to spread the goodness of Iam, to show the people of Pantego how to bask in His Light.
The oldest priest laughed. Dellbar recognized the voice. Father Pengelly, the one favored by a vast number of the priests to have received the title Dellbar stole. “Your Holiness,” he said with rotten vim. “I think we know what our jobs are.”
“You don’t,” Dellbar said calmly. “None of you do. I didn’t. Darkness rises outside this haven, and none of you have heard or will listen. What wisdom is there in that? What help is there in that? We’re comfortable in our faith because it isn’t tested. Light surrounded by more light is nothing but light. If light never encounters darkness…” He let the words linger.
“We are doing our duty,” the old priest said.
“Not like the men who march on the battlefield, or those of us who fought against the mystics.”
“I fought the mystics,” Father Pengelly said. “I did what I had to in that war. Where were you? You have no right—“
“And now you rest for a lifetime. I may be many things, and a skeptic was one of them, despite my robes. But Iam came to me at White Bridge, and I have seen what evil we face. Demons, fallen goddesses, and beasts forged by shadow. And I can stand here and spend days trying to convince all of you that we don’t have to sit around here praying in order to help. But that we can help. Iam wants us to help.”
“Okay, okay, we’re listening,” said the first priest, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell us, Dellbar. Tell us all what you have seen without eyes. Tell us what happened in Latiapur after you sanctioned the marriage between King Pi and a Shesaitju without consulting anybody!”
“No, I won’t waste my time. You’ll all see soon enough. Right now, you’re taking everything you might need, and we are marching to Yarrington. And all the gallers we have will be dispatched to every church west of the gorge, telling those priests to go to Yarrington as well.”
Father Pengelly scoffed. “Everyone single one of us?”
“Not just the priests,” Dellbar said, ignoring him. “Every monk. Every sister. We will decipher these texts, and we will help stop Nesilia before it’s too late.”
In unison, the priests release an exasperated sigh. It almost sounded somber.
“It’s very clear we’ve made a mistake,” Father Pengelly said. “You can’t be trusted with this honor that we have bestowed upon you.”
“Like I said, there is no time to convince or argue.” He aimed his face at the sky, and a few harsh words were aimed at him. Then, t
he earth quaked. A few priests let out nervous laughter. Then, it shook again. And with a third time, the sound of stone splitting echoed across the valley like thunder.
“What is this!” Father Pengelly shouted.
Dellbar didn’t answer. He merely listened. The cracking augmented, and the shaking increased. Panic flourished all around him. And then, some of the monks and sisters started shrieking.
“The central tower! It’s breaking apart.”
Father Pengelly charged at him and grasped Dellbar by the collar, missing a few times as panic clearly hampered his senses.
“Dellbar, what is the meaning of this!”
The loudest crack yet sent a chunk of stone tumbling down the tower, breaking to pieces on the rocks below. Everyone gasped and crouched for cover, even Father Pengelly. Dellbar straightened out his robes and kept listening until Uhlvark’s cavernous voice rang out.
“Mister Father Morningweg!” he called out from the direction of the tower’s comprised entrance. “Mister Father Morningweg, I done it!”
His footsteps banged along, more screaming coming as he and the masons bounded through the gathered crowd of holy men and women. Behind him, parts of the tower kept breaking apart, and Dellbar knew it wouldn’t be long before it partially collapsed in on itself, burying an ancient altar with it.
A low price in the grand scheme of things, eh, Iam? he thought.
“Dellbar, what is this madness!” Father Pengelly demanded.
“A few comprised columns in the foundation, thanks to my good friend Uhlvark, and even the oldest tower comes down,” Dellbar said.
“You’re insane!”
“Probably. But now, none of you cowards have a place to be comfortable in. Nothing to keep you here instead of marching with me to where we can make a real difference. Hornsheim can be rebuilt. Altars can be rebuilt. Even books can be rewritten. But our world cannot exist if all the light is snuffed out, and we all took a vow never to allow that to happen. By Nesilia’s hand, or any other... not even our own.”
Another bout of yelling was interrupted when more of the tower collapsed. The bang was as loud as those in Latiapur when Dellbar witnessed the true horrors of war. Now, maybe these soft people might have a taste of that, too.
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