The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith)

by RJ Blain

  The rain broke the reflections of the lightning on the slick stones.

  Escape lay up the path, where it curved out of sight to one of the gates in the wrought-iron fence surrounding most of Upper Erelith City, if Terin could get through the bars. The metal was free of rust, and no matter how hard he tugged at them, they didn’t move.

  Thunder crashed again and shook the sewers. He backed away from the bars, shivering at the gusts of frigid air sweeping through the tunnel. Rubbing his rain slicked palms against his legs, he paused to consider the blockade and the storm. Backing away until he stood where the platform intersected with the sewer channel, he lifted his hands and splayed his fingers. Terin closed his eyes.

  The lightning flashed so bright it left spots dancing in front of his eyes. A tingle swept over him and he heard a crackle. Jolts of static jumped from his hair to his skin and he shivered. Drawing a deep breath and fighting the quiver in his arms and legs, Terin Spoke in a whisper, “Thunder, crack! Lightning, strike! When all things have caught aflame in the light of the heavens, all shall be reborn.”

  His fingertips burned, and Terin struggled with focusing on what he desired. The memory of the bars crossing the sewer’s exit filled his thoughts. He drew a breath to finish the scripture. “Only through destruction may there be renewal.”

  The storm quieted. Terin opened his eyes to darkness. The ground trembled beneath his feet, accompanied by a high-pitched buzz. The red glow of Speech-wrought light enveloped his hand and where it touched him, his skin tingled and the hairs on his arm rose upward. Bursts of static danced between the hairs.

  Like a rose’s vine, a tendril of red stretched out from Terin’s hand, struck the platform, and raced to the metal bars on the far side of the passage. It coiled upward, weaving through the bars to cover the entire grate.

  The storm roared its fury.

  Blue lightning fell from the sky in a column, and streaks of red raced through it, erupting out as gouts of flame. Heat blasted at Terin’s face, sucking the breath out of him. Flame blossomed and rushed down the corridor at him, stopping so close the stench of his hair burning bit at his nose. The fire recoiled, and the wind gusted behind it, so strong it knocked him to his hands and knees.

  Terin stared at the other end of the sewers. The stone exploded, and shrapnel clattered and ricocheted off the walls. He cried out and shielded his eyes against the flash of light bursting through the passage. Debris thudded against his arm and legs.

  The pain didn’t start until he shifted his weight and rubbed at his stinging eyes. When he could see again, nothing remained of the bars. Large chunks of the worked stone cracked and crumbled away, falling to the city below. Red and blue streaks of light danced over the water’s surface.

  Arcs of energy leaped from the waters to stone. Terin shivered and struggled to stand. It took him several tries to get to his feet and he had to lean against the wall to stay upright.

  His skin shivered and twitched, and rubbing at his arms didn’t ease the sensation of lightning crawling over him. Sticky, wet blood oozed down his arm from several cuts. The wounds stung, and he clutched his hand over the worst of them. The gash was near his shoulder, and he hissed from the pain. It hurt more than the aching cut across his side, and it bled a lot more, too.

  The first step he took sent him crashing back to the ground, his knees cracking against the stone. While none of the shrapnel had pierced through his legs, the dull throb of forming bruises kept him from standing for a long moment. Gasping for breath, Terin staggered upright once more and limped to the other end of the sewer. His sweat stung as it fell in his eyes.

  A few spikes of twisted metal remained, and the ends of them sparked with red and blue. The skirt of the platform connected the sewer to the narrow stone stair twisting upward and out of sight.

  The rain tapered off to a drizzle and the thunder once again rumbled from the dark clouds overhead. Water gleamed on the smooth stones of the path and reflected the glow from the sewer and the restless sky.

  Cold seeped through his clothes and numbed him, easing most of his pain save for the growing throb in his head. Terin stepped out onto the ledge, and his teeth chattered by his second step. As if frightened of knocking him from the ledge, the winds stilled to a light breeze. The edge of the walkway dropped away to scraggly brush, leaving enough room for him to stand without having to huddle against the cliff. The open air tempted him; one wrong step and he’d plummet to the unforgiving cobbles below.

  He shivered, sliding his foot to where the stone crumbled away, curling his toes over the ledge. Exhaustion clung to him, bringing with it an ache in his eyes and a fog in his head. He lacked the strength to take the one step that would let him escape his enslavement and his master’s hold on him.

  Terin didn’t know how long he stood and stared at the darkness. The storm cleared enough for him to make out the dim lights far below. When he managed to move, he drew his foot away from the edge and took his first step upward.

  His body ached in protest, the chill clinging to his bones and joints. The throb in his side was back, and not even the cold numbed him to it. Grinding his teeth together, he forced one foot in front of the other, and the impact of each step made his ankles and knees throb. The path weaved up the cliff; it led to a landing large enough for him to sit. Slumping down, he stared up at the sky and at the lightning illuminating the roiling clouds. A glint of red drew his eyes downward.

  For a moment, something reflected the lightning; a bloodied splotch darkened the back of his hand. When he blinked, it was gone.

  Terin sighed, shook his head at his eyes playing tricks on him, and tried to gather the strength to stand. His aching legs, stiff with cold, refused to obey him. A frustrated noise emerged from his throat.

  Angry tears burned his eyes. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. With luck, he’d never open them again.

  ~*~

  Blaise waited, but he wasn’t left alone. Without opening his eyes and betraying his consciousness, he couldn’t tell who was with him.

  It wasn’t Alphege; the scent was wrong and the Archbishop hummed when he didn’t think anyone could hear. It wasn’t Frolar or Cassius; Cassius would’ve been cursing, and Frolar wouldn’t have been able to stay so still and quiet. There would’ve been holes worn into the floor by the time the aging human had finished his rounds. Blaise knew their scents as well, and the person with him had a faintly sweet musk he didn’t recognize as belonging to either Cassius or Frolar.

  It took Blaise a few careful, silent inhales to identify his keeper as a male. The perfumes of expensive soaps tickled his nose. He swallowed back a disgusted snort. Only one of the Emperor’s men would come to the cathedral so freshly washed and stinking of honey.

  The faithful either came with their sweat still clinging to them or bathed in more floral perfumes.

  “You can stop pretending you’re asleep now,” the Emperor’s general rumbled. While General Horthoe didn’t whisper, he spoke no louder than necessary to be heard.

  Blaise fell to the temptation and snorted. “How did you guess?”

  “You almost sneezed.”

  “How observant.” Blaise opened his eyes and stretched, wincing as his stiff joints popped and creaked from staying still for so long. The familiar, tight confines of his room welcomed him, lit by a single candle in the lone wall sconce. “The Emperor must be displeased with you to give you such a dull duty.”

  General Horthoe shook his head. “Or he desires for me to find out what you know. You don’t look like you’re about to die, so start talking. What happened to the Heart of God?”

  Blaise sat up, stretching his arms out over his head and wincing at the ache in his spine. The worst of it was centered where Aurora’s presence chilled his stomach. The general leaned against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. No medals decorated the gray coat, but the man carried such a strong presence that Blaise couldn’t help but grin.

  Their eyes met, and the man didn�
�t look away. Blaise cocked his head to the side. “You’re an efficient one, aren’t you, General? I don’t know what happened to the Heart of God or why it happened. I’m as surprised as you.”

  It wasn’t a lie; while he had his suspicions, he doubted that the Emperor’s man wanted to hear his thoughts on the matter. The tip of Blaise’s tail wasn’t quite sentient, but it was a part of him, and he hadn’t forgotten the Emperor’s glee at the murder of those within the Arena.

  His bone knew his feelings regarding the ruler of the Erelith Empire.

  “I thought you’d say something like that. I’ve heard a great deal about you, Bishop Blaise. The Emperor is interested in you,” General Horthoe said.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, General,” he replied, matching the man’s fake smile with one of his own.

  A frown erased the man’s expression, tugging at the corners of the general’s mouth and bringing out dips beneath each high cheekbone. “Leviticus Horthoe.”

  “I’m curious. Is there a reason why the Emperor would take any notice of me?” Blaise asked, lowering his arms to clasp his hands on his lap. Once again, he met the man’s gaze and the general didn’t look away. “As for the Heart of God, it is—was—an ancient thing. While its loss is sad, perhaps that is why it broke.”

  General Horthoe laughed. “Broke is one way to put it, Bishop. There wasn’t even a trace of dust left by the time you hit the ground. I’m not even sure I believe it was the real thing.”

  Blaise lifted his hand to his chest and bowed his head. Aurora’s presence rose up to chill his skin beneath his fist. “It was the real thing, Leviticus. You can verify that by asking Colonel Cassius. I permitted him to touch it while it was in my care.”

  “Colonel Anthain? Curious. I’ll make certain to ask him. Most troubling that he is not here to verify the truth of your words.”

  Blaise felt the corners of his mouth twitch downward. “I expect so, seeing that you’ve managed to lose the Hand of God.” Blaise surged to his feet and crossed to where his coat hung from a hook on the wall. The general stepped out of his path.

  “You aren’t surprised by this at all.”

  “No, I’m not,” Blaise replied, uncertain of how much he could reveal to the middle-aged man without exposing too much of the truth. While Aurora’s fragmented soul had never gone to such lengths to disappear in the past, Blaise had fallen prey to her instinctual urges many times. Nothing good ever followed in the wake of the Heart of God fleeing from the grasp of mortals.

  Especially considering her desperation forced her into using him as a vessel. It’d take time for his tail bone to regenerate, but in time, and with enough begging on his part, the staff could be created again. Blaise would need help from Him, but it could be done.

  He wasn’t going to let the humans know that, however.

  General Horthoe glared at him. “Why?”

  “It isn’t the first time that the Heart of God has vanished. It’s written in the church records. Don’t you know the story, General Horthoe?” Blaise draped his coat over his arm, examining the golden buttons.

  “I’ve heard it a time or two. Go on, though,” the man replied, one brow arched high. “This should be interesting.”

  “I won’t bore you with the details, but consider this: There are no records of the Hand or the Eye of God being used while the Heart of God has been openly possessed by someone. That is what the books say, at least. Most consider it just another myth, of course.” Blaise shrugged his way into his coat and took his time buttoning it. “Anyway, it’d take God himself to restore something like the Heart of God.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “He made it, after all.”

  General Horthoe huffed. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”

  Blaise shook his head and adjusted his collar. “You military folk sure do like to flaunt and use the power of the Hand of God, and your Emperor wanted the Heart, yet the concept that God made it is so difficult for you to accept?”

  “I’m still not convinced that you didn’t have something to do with the Heart’s destruction.”

  Blaise turned to meet the man’s gaze. “I didn’t,” he replied. General Horthoe’s eyes narrowed.

  “What do you think happened, then?”

  “Do you want the answer that’ll make your Emperor happy, or do you want the truth?” Blaise asked.

  General Horthoe chuckled. “Tell me both and I’ll decide for myself what I think is best to tell him.”

  “If I were the Heart—and we both know I’m not, mind you—I think I’d rather destroy myself than be held by a man like him.” Blaise was proud he managed to keep his expression neutral despite wanting to smirk. “The Hand of God is picky enough about who it lets touch it. Why can’t that same principle apply to the Heart of God?”

  The lack of response from General Horthoe cracked through Blaise’s calm and he grinned. “But, since you don’t believe in that sort of thing, I’d say it was just old and something shattered it. Perhaps too much exposure to Speech?”

  “I’m going to guess that is the answer the Emperor doesn’t want to hear. Very well, Bishop. The answer he’d prefer?”

  Blaise waved his hand dismissively. “Someone was jealous of his oh-so-great powers and sought to kill him. Unfortunately, they missed.”

  “That’s treason of the highest order, Bishop. I also find that hard to believe. If the Heart is so powerful, as the Erelith Church of God likes to claim it is, how could it shatter? It makes no sense to me at all.”

  “The Heart of God has always been—well, used to be—a bit mysterious. No one really knew what it was capable of.” He shrugged and turned his attention to his cuffs, fingering the new red-gold buttons. “Unless you’ve more questions for me, General, I think I should see the Archbishop.”

  “I’m not finished with you, yet. Please, Bishop Blaise, why don’t you sit down?”

  “I think I’ll stand,” he replied, leaning against the wall. “What else did you want to talk about?”

  General Horthoe frowned. “You mentioned something about the Heart of God not being present when the Hand or Eye were used. The Eye of God is a myth, Bishop.”

  Feigning curiosity helped Blaise mask his irritation. “Do you truly mean to say you know nothing of the thing you’ve failed to protect?”

  “I don’t like your tone, Bishop.”

  Blaise met General Horthoe’s eyes and didn’t blink until the man looked away. “I don’t like your ignorance.”

  “Then, by all means, Bishop, enlighten me. What do you think you know that’s so vital that you’d speak to me like that?”

  The smile came unbidden, and Blaise enjoyed the man’s scowl. “I know enough. I know what the Emperor has done in order to acquire it.”

  “And what do you think he has done?” General Horthoe challenged.

  “Fifteen years ago, he conquered the kingdom of Zorsan. I suppose conquer is too kind of a term. He didn’t conquer it. He erased it from every map. He desired the Eye of God, and when he didn’t find it in the hands of the Zorsan royals, he had every noble-blooded newborn slaughtered. When he was done, he went into a rage. Those he didn’t kill, he enslaved.”

  The general’s face paled. “How did you learn that?”

  “Did you mistake my white coat as a symbol of idiocy, General? Or would it appease you if I claimed I was there?”

  “You would’ve been just a boy.”

  “I’d say the same applies to you as well, General Horthoe. Unless I’m seriously mistaken, which I’m not, you were there. You saw it with your own eyes.”

  Genera Horthoe shook his head, but Blaise suspected it wasn’t in denial. “Twenty-three, and not even a full year as a General. You’re right. I was there,” the man replied. Anguish darkened Horthoe’s blue eyes. “I led the invading force against the Zorsan royals. You’re well-learned, Bishop.”

  “We keep extensive records in the libraries here, Leviticus. We don’t just
keep all of the scriptures in these hallowed halls, but a faithful record of the history of the Erelith Empire. Zorsan was a bloody affair. A complete opposite of the bloodless annexing that secured your Generalship.” Blaise wasn’t sure how to comfort the distressed human, or if he wanted to, but he offered the man a small smile.

  “If all of the Emperor’s desires could be as peaceful as the Forseth annexing,” the man muttered. Then, in a louder voice, General Horthoe said, “Yes, yes, you’re right. Zorsan fell because His Imperial Majesty desired the Eye, and he didn’t find it.”

  “It would be better if it was never found,” Blaise said.

  “The Eye?”

  “It would not bother me if the Hand of God fell into obscurity and myth as well,” Blaise admitted. “Some powers shouldn’t be used. Not by anyone.”

  “Not even by God?” General Horthoe asked with a smirk.

  “Especially not by God.”

  “Are you certain you’re a bishop?”

  “As certain as you’re a general,” Blaise replied. He shook his head. “God created this world with His right hand. What do you think His left is for?”

  “If you believe in that sort of thing. So, it’s killed a few failed vessels. It’s driven a few others mad. That doesn’t give it the power to destroy all things.”

  Blaise lifted his hand to rub at his brow and scowled when his gloved fingers brushed against the linens wrapped around his head. The pressure didn’t ease the growing threat of a headache. “Think, General. If you believe the teachings, it’s a mere echo of God’s true power. With it, the Emperor has the power to destroy empires. Imagine what it could do when used for its true purpose. And, never forget, God is a being of balance. The right hand is for creation. The left is for destruction. In equal measure. Unfortunately, some believe—and rightly so, in my opinion—that God doesn’t necessarily care which hand he uses when building things and returning them to dust.”

  General Horthoe frowned. “I see your point. But, still, that doesn’t change the fact that the Eye of God is a myth. It’s been over a thousand years since anyone has even claimed to possess it.”