by Dylan Doose
Another lash. Aldous cried out.
“Say it, brother Aldous! Utter the words of the scripture, and be free of your sins!”
“Suffer not her temptation—”
Another lash.
“Louder! Let the Luminescent hear you. Let the sun hear your words!”
“Suffer not her temptation! Be not lustful of her! Gaze not into her eyes and so be seduced!” Aldous yelled, believing not a word of it.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
Lover Boy
The chapel ceiling towered above , and while the golden dome of the sun tower had revealed the actual heavens of space and the cosmos beyond, the chapel ceiling portrayed fictional heavens, but painted with such mastery they looked as real as the sky. Smiling, winged cherubs as tall as two men flew across a blue expanse with white clouds wrapping round them like ribbon wisps. In their hands were bows and spears of gold, and these weapons were unleashed upon the running people with the heads of goats. They ran for their lives from the smiling cherubs that gleefully unleashed their slaughter.
Aldous shuddered. He had never seen such depictions in any Brynthian church. Perhaps that was because the Brynthian paintings were primitive in comparison to these. It disturbed Aldous in a way, the realism of the painting. To gaze upon it was to know that a master artist, alone, with naught but a brush and pigments, created such beauty and horror.
To see such a masterpiece was to know that mastery existed, and it was humbling because somewhere there was a master wizard, a master swordsman, assassin, and every other killing class of man, woman…and beast. Many were the enemies of Aldous, because they were the enemies of the man who saved him, the man he had given his oath to follow into hell’s open maw, and piss in the devil’s soup if asked.
Aldous knew that when he finally looked back down into the chapel, he would have to deal with his task, his oath. And the anxiety that prospect produced was crippling. Dentin was always strong in his thoughts. Dentin and pain and loss.
Your oath is your oath, Aldous. Your oath is your oath, so tilt your head down and just…keep an eye out. Keep an eye out and when you see it, just cook it…cook it…cook it.
That was Aldous’s task, to keep an eye out for signs of Dammar, Ken had instructed. So Aldous clung to the wall and the shadows, apart from the crowd, and watched for anything out of the ordinary.
Ken’s task was to go with Chevic and some men to secure the southern gatehouse. Theron’s task was to search the entire Basilica for any potential summoning points that Dammar might use after he manifested to call upon other demons and beasts from other realms.
At least, that was what Theron planned to tell anyone who asked.
It was a thing he could have legitimately been doing, but in actuality Theron was investigating the Basilica for any greater conspiracy. Theron and Ken were fully convinced the Patriarch was part of something beyond a corrupt church, something beyond a powerful wizard. Aldous was inclined to agree.
So out of the three, Aldous’s task was the least intimidating by far, at least for the moment, yet Aldous still was certain he was moments from shitting himself. He had thought it would get easier after Norburg. Even after Wardbrook. After Dentin, he had known it never would.
Each and every time since, when he faced death or lifelong crippling pain, he felt like he was going to lose his bowels, and no matter how much he told himself that he was ready for death, for pain, and to unleash his fire on anyone and anything that tried to harm him, his friends or his oath, he did not believe it.
How do they do it, Ken and Theron? How do they find it in themselves to bite down and keep going forward? I came out of Dentin relatively unscathed compared to them. Theron without an eye went off alone for a month to claim his sister’s killer’s heart. And he did it.
Ken now wears an iron fist in place of the flesh and blood he lost at Dentin. Yet he does not hesitate or show fear.
And I…I only lost my heart.
Aldous let his gaze slide along the four balconies on the interior of the massive chapel, then studied the expanse of the room, the undulating crowd, the revelers and believers and fakes. In the center bodies performed a slow, melancholy sort of spiraling dance. The choirboys had stopped singing and left the Sun Maiden playing on alone on the second floor of eastern balconies. She sang an old prayer as she stroked the chords of her grand harp. It was one Aldous had heard many times sung by the sisters in the church back in Norburg on the night before First Morning.
The dressed bodies spun and spun, slowly, hypnotically. It was calming to watch, with the sound of the harp, with the vibrant dresses of every color, almost all of which were embroidered with gold. The men all wore extravagant doublets, and coats and robes, the finest their lands and provinces had to offer. A dark-skinned woman, dark as night, wearing a long, sleeveless robe of purple silk embroidered with gold thread, danced with a man whose flesh was near milk white, his red doublet, gloves, and shoes embroidered with gold. The Kehldeshi princess, or whoever she was, twirled in the arms of the man and laughed. Next to them, dancers wearing every variety of vibrant color, or sharp shade, silk from the east, fine furs and skins from the north and west, all twirling slowly to the soothing melody of the harp.
It was beautiful, remarkable, but like everything in this country, the beauty hid something foul, something rotten, unclean, and in need of purging. None of them had any idea of what was coming. Of course they knew a civil war was raging; of course they had a vague idea of the dangers of this country. They heard of the villages burning and the attacks on the road, but they were distant from it all, hidden away in their castles. Like Salvenius in Norburg hiding away from the rats.
But the violence of the woods was right there with them. Dammar was dancing among them, touching them, his breath mingling with theirs. Or maybe just watching.
Aldous turned, certain he felt the demon’s gaze upon him, prickling his flesh and raising the hairs at the back of his neck. His stomach cramped. But he could find no one’s eyes upon him.
Past the dancers, across the chamber, Aldous saw Theron emerge from a door and then begin making his way down the eastern corridor. He was wearing his helm and openly equipped with both his swords, and he walked confidently despite the turned heads and momentary glances of the guests. His confidence inspired Aldous, and he touched his hip for a moment, beneath the white monk robe. He had Chayse’s sword sheathed directly down his thigh, held in place by leather straps.
He hunched over and limped to give the appearance of a cripple so his staff was less suspicious. Around his neck was the red gem given to him by Theron, a stone enchanted by Theron’s mother, a great sorceress, to make the magic pulse of the wearer invisible to other mages. Of course, the most powerful mage present, the Patriarch, already knew exactly what Aldous was. Still, it was wise to remain concealed from other magical beings if possible.
Aldous stood alone now at the northwestern end of the chapel. Some other guests talked just out of earshot, their hair so blond it was nearly white. They wore heavy furs and mail coats even though they were unarmed, and they looked particularly unimpressed with everything. One of them looked up at the painting on the ceiling and said something, and then they both began to howl with laughter. When they saw Aldous looking at them, they stopped laughing and glowered at him for moment. Then their laughter began again.
Aldous guessed from their size, their garb, and the axe sigils they wore about their thick necks that these two men were envoys from the north, Blodjord. They were pagans, certainly, and they hated the Enlightened and their church. The Luminescent was not their god. Dammar was not their god. He would choose neither of them as his vessel.
They were there because it was known the king in Blodjord was slowly trying to build trade relations with the Enlightened nations, unlike the even more brutish northerners from Ygdrasst, who only came to southern shores with the intent of plundering.
“You are not a cripple,” said a woman from next to Aldo
us in common speech tinged with the accent of Romaria. He turned from the northmen and, because he was hunched over and pretending to be a cripple, cricked his neck up to look at a very tall and most beautiful woman. She had a sharp, delicate face with the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen. Her hair was tied back at the top of her head in a tight braid, and she wore a heavy black bear fur over her shoulders, held closed with a pink gemstone brooch at the base of her neck.
She looked at him playfully, as if his acting was a game, as if she had found him out and wanted some reward. “Why are you pretending?”
Aldous swallowed, and took a moment to come up with a lie. What would Theron do?
“You’ve just exposed me and ruined the whole thing,” Aldous whispered.
“Oh? What did I ruin?” she asked. She was almost as tall as Theron, maybe Ken’s height, and so a good few inches taller than Aldous. She was truly beautiful, Aldous thought, and then felt guilty for thinking that of anyone but Chayse.
It was the first time he’d seen a woman as beautiful since he lost Chayse.
You did not lose her. She was not yours. She was no one’s but her own. You never even lay with her. She was your friend, not your lover. Clear your mind, you idiot.
“Sun Maiden Clara. I’m in love with her,” Aldous blurted, and he wasn’t at all sure where he was going with this, or if this were what Theron would have done. “She is the girl on the harp, and I have always loved her, from a distance…”
The lady raised a fine brow at him, her full lips in the faintest pucker.
Aldous rushed on. “Well, I have only been a monk here for a year, you see. I am a missionary from Brynth. I professed my love to her last night, and she forbade me from entering this house and looking upon her. She said it was sinful. She told me to spend this night praying for strength.” Aldous surprised himself when he looked right into those brown eyes and, with real emotion, real sadness, finished, “Alone.”
And when he said that word, that stinging word that stabbed his heart the moment it was uttered, the woman’s expression betrayed the fact that the word stung her too.
He could not explain it, but he was hit by a wave of emotion, perhaps spurred by the thought of dying tonight and knowing that he had never lain with a woman, and the effect of all those people dancing, under the light cast from the Patriarch’s magic, with the harp being played by the alleged Clara. It had a profound effect.
“How did you know I was not a cripple?” he asked.
“I have seen many, and you had it all wrong,” she said, and smiled. It was a sad smile, a delicate, beautiful, melancholy smile. “So I watched you, and when you turned for a moment, I saw your sad, beautiful eyes. Your lonely eyes.”
Aldous gulped again, and his face started to burn.
“My, beaut…beautiful eyes?” he stammered. All acting had come to a halt.
She reached out and let the backs of her fingers trail across his cheek. “I’m alone too.”
“May I ask you your name, my lady?” Aldous asked, regaining control of his voice. Theron would not have stuttered. At least, the Theron I knew before Dentin would not have stuttered. The Theron I know now would not have spoken to her.
“You may call me Dalia. May I ask your name?”
Aldous realized that while they were speaking he was no longer overwhelmed with terror and anxiety about Dammar, the Patriarch, and his friends’ intention to kill them both…his intention to kill them both.
She reached her hand out, very slowly, painfully slowly, and she laced her fingers with his. That was all it took for his groin to grow as hot as his face, and terror and anxiety to return with the urge to void his bowels, but it was a fear of life now, not death, that was crushing down on him. He hated himself in that moment, paralyzed by any and all prospects of moving forward, frozen in time while existence persisted around him.
Destiny. Let destiny take hold.
That is what Theron would do.
This strange, beautiful woman, who thinks you have beautiful eyes, is just holding your hand. Get a damn grip on yourself and be a man. For once be a man, a hunter, a wizard… A fugitive, a killer, a warrior, and a survivor. I am Aldous Weaver and I am in lust with you, my lady.
“I am brother Billy…us,” Aldous said. Brother Billyus, you bastard, what type of name is that?
Dalia giggled like a little girl, and this time she raised both her eyebrows.
“You’re a terrible liar, but lies are part of mysteries.” She stepped very near to him now and leaned in close enough to kiss. Aldous dared not move an inch. “I love to uncover mysteries,” she said, her mouth not an inch away from his, and he could taste her breath, sweet, and wanted more.
He looked at her neck and wanted to kiss it, bite it, despite his charge of keeping an eye out. And although earlier that day he had already bungled his charge of securing the high ground, the exact failure that got them into this predicament, he could not resist the impulse to fail again.
“Tell me…monk. Are you a virgin?” When she said this, she stood to her full height and inched closer to Aldous. She leaned in and put her mouth right to his ear, and he could feel her breasts press against his body. He pictured her naked for a moment, her tall, lean body on top of him as she moaned.
I am a virgin, but I have no wish to die as one.
Aldous took a step back, stood up fully, and looked her in the eyes.
“Are you a witch?” He had wanted to ask the question with authority, but it was a mistake to look into her eyes. The question came out in a whispered rasp. Dalia smiled and closed the gap. Aldous stepped back once again, and only then did he realize she was still holding his hand. He pulled it away and looked around, feeling like his disguise no longer hid him from anyone because of this interaction, but everything and everyone were as they had been, focusing entirely not on him.
“Why would you ask such a hurtful thing?” Dalia said, smiling, and again, with the same slow movement as the first time, she reached her hand out to clutch his, and yet again he did not resist her. “But tell me, Billyus, are you a wizard?”
“Well, I do have a long wooden staff,” he said, and smiled like a child. Dalia did the same. Theron would have been proud of that line, although if he saw me use it now, here like this, he’d take off my head. This is not the damn time.
“Come with me,” she said. She did not turn to look around and think about where she would lead him; she already knew. But Aldous didn’t notice that at the time because he wasn’t thinking with the right head, not at all. And voices in the back of his mind were screaming, Turn around, walk away from this seductress…return to your task. This could well be a trap, a ruse, and you may be a target. These voices were silenced by images of Dalia riding him, screaming in ecstasy, and then he thought of Chayse, thought of pulling her hair and licking her neck. And then he felt very sick, but it didn’t stop the thoughts, and he didn’t stop following Dalia as she led him down a hall, up a flight of stairs, then down another. He hardly paid attention to where they went. His dick was on fire. He was afraid and his stomach turned like a maelstrom. And all he could think about was her.
They reached the wine cellar and snuck past the servants who were bringing wine back up to the guests.
She led him to a dark corner, nearly pitch black. Aldous placed his staff against the wall and frantically pulled the monk robe off as if it were suffocating him. He watched Dalia’s silhouette drop the fur shawl in the dim torchlight that filtered to that dark corner. She dropped something else with a dampened thud on top of the fur, but in the dark Aldous could not make out what it was. He didn’t care what it was; all he cared about right then…
Dalia reached out her arms, pulled him close, and tilted her head down to kiss him. Her lips were sweet, and when they touched his, he felt a sensation much like drunkenness.
They were alone, in a silent forest undisturbed for eternity. Her hands and his worked together to pull his trousers down, and he was already hard before she touched
him. When he heard the first screams from far off, in the city, ones that did not sound like merriment, he almost pulled away from her, but when her tongue pressed into his mouth, Aldous decided they were screams of merriment after all. It is not midnight yet, not already.
He heard wind chimes and the pounding of drums, but her hands were on him and he could not think.
When she said in a voice not at all human, a voice with booming depth that echoed through his skull, a voice of the demon, “Kneel before me,” his knees buckled against his will and he obeyed.
She stood in front of him, naked, a purple glow illuminating her skin. Aldous knew the right thing to do was to stand, to go for his staff and turn the demon to ash. Instead he remained kneeling before her, examining every inch. She was lean, every cord of muscle visible. The contrast of the sharp lines of her sinew to the small hills of her hips and breasts made him want to touch her. At the same time, he wanted to flee. He could not flee. He could only kneel.
She threw back her head and laughed in the voice of the demon.
As Kendrick the Cold would say, you’re fucked now, lad.
* * *
Entry 152:
I know not how many days it has been, and I will not hazard a guess as I did the last time I was slain. This time I am sure it was longer than two weeks wherein my tissue regenerated and repaired. This time it was not bandits that did me in—at least, not the traditional sort of brigands. These men wore golden masks formed like the faces of smiling angels. Many of them had fine armor and flew the golden sun on a white field as their banner.
I had stopped in a small town where I had managed to track the lord regent’s younger self, along with his two companions and the man they were working for. When I arrived, they were there no longer. All witnesses and other clues suggested I was but a day behind.
The first snow had already fallen and they would have been easy to track going northward. Before I went on my way, I stepped out of the tavern where I had been following my line of inquiry to find the men in the golden masks dragging a woman into the center of town, where a dead tree with a noose was waiting.
