by Mark Teppo
"Is it still there?" she asked, watching me.
I blinked and took a deep breath. Was it? I took a step closer to the basin and peered more closely at the page. The paper rested on the bottom, edges curling up along the slope of the bowl. The ink had run completely now, and some of it was bleeding off the page, tiny tendrils wisping into the water where they became bleached of their darkness. Fading strands of smoke that vanished as they became filled with light.
"No," I said. "There's nothing left."
"See? So easily dismissed. So easily turned into nothing more than a bad dream."
"You can't dismiss the vision as easily as that," I said. "You can't just throw it away and pretend it doesn't exist."
She leaned forward and looked at the nearly blank page. "I did, though. Besides, how do you know I was telling you the truth? Maybe that wasn't something Hildegard drew at all. Maybe it was something someone gave to me. 'Show this to him,' they said. 'See what he does.' " She shrugged. "Freaked you out, didn't it? How I got under your skin so quickly."
I took a step back from the basin. "No, now you're lying to me." The pictures on the walls seemed to flow, the faces changing into demonic visages wracked with laughter.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "Or is it more convenient for you to believe that I am?"
What do you Know, foolish magus? The faces all danced with mirth. What do you Know?
"I was there," I tried, my voice faint against the raucous laughter ringing in my head.
"Where?" Vivienne asked.
"Portland," I whimpered. "When Bernard activated the Key of Thoth and tried to talk to God."
"Were you?" she asked, pressing the point. Her words came hard and fast. "Not according to the Record you weren't. We had a Witness there. He didn't see you. Are you accusing a Watcher of falsifying a True Record?"
Antoine lied. He lied to protect himself and to elevate himself in the eyes of the Watchers. He hadn't done it to protect me; he had done it to take power for himself. His report gave him control of the situation. Whatever he claimed as the Record became permanent. I had been written out, like the shadow filled with eyes. Smeared into the background and then dissolved. What's gone is gone.
What was I doing now? Was I part of the cosmological rebirth that was coming? Was it my destiny to take up the Cup and drink from it at the Coronation ceremony? To be Crowned, thereby receiving the vision and wisdom of the Hierarch. Me-the untested, untrained, and uninformed magus-who had been given the keys of power by a madman. Or was that part of the lunacy of Husserl's interpretation: to twist me so much that I argued that I wasn't the Hierarch's tool, performed the tasks anyway, and when the end came, was pushed aside because, yes, I really wasn't his tool after all?
I didn't exist. I had died in the river, buried under all that water and flowing energy. There was no Record that I was still alive. Not if the Record was to be believed, and who was I to contradict the Record? To accuse a Protector-Witness of lying? I was a lonely voice in the wilderness, crying out to be heard, to be accepted, to be loved.
But why? Why did I want their affection? Their adulation? Hadn't I spent five years hiding from them, trying to get away from my past? Hadn't I tried so very hard to not be a Watcher? Yet, here I was: running errands for the Architects, killing the competition, and being twisted by the continued admonishment that I wasn't a real player, that I wasn't worthy of being initiated into the secret histories and occult mysteries of La Societe Lumineuse.
I took another step back and collided with the wall. My hand touched the painting and it felt warm and resilient, more like flesh than dried oil paint. A hand grabbed mine and I tried to pull free, the Chorus sparking down my arm and into my neck, but something sharp pierced the top of my skull and the lights went out.
XXX
At first, I thought the lack of illumination had simply been a result of the bowl going dark, but when the light in the basin came back, I realized I was sitting down, back against the wall, with no recollection of how I got there. I reached up and touched the top of my head, expecting to find an entry wound, but there was nothing but a tender spot. Nothing was broken. The Chorus buzzed in my ears like angry bees, and my sense of balance was off by several degrees in the wrong direction.
Vivienne crouched next to me, and put her hand under my chin so as to lift my head. "Are you all right?" she asked.
"No," I admitted. "It's been a long day. Couple of days, actually." Now that I was sitting, I really didn't feel like getting up. The thought earned me another buzzing pass from the Chorus. Angry little bees.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I understand. I was a bit abrupt. I could have been a bit-"
"No, no. That's fine," I interrupted. "I. . just. . well, never mind. It's not important." I forced a smile onto my lips. "I get it, though. I'm not the white knight everyone expected."
She pursed her lips. "What makes you think we need one?"
I started to protest, and then wondered why I was bothering. "You know?" I said, "I don't really fucking care if you do." My social filters were low, and I let the words out. I didn't care anymore. "I don't really care if Hildegard foresaw the Ascension Event in Portland. I don't care if it was my destiny to stop Bernard. All I know is that a lot of people died that night, and, really, there's no spin you can put on what happened that will alleviate the moral culpability of the Watchers. You were either Witnesses or participants, and both positions aren't acceptable to me. Both positions are reprehensible."
She looked at my face a moment longer, watching the movement of the Chorus in my eyes, and then she let go of my chin. "Very well." She sat back on her heels, and her hands fell into her lap where they unconsciously folded into a penitential prayer. "You came for the Grail."
I swallowed some of the bile backing up into my throat. "I did."
"You threatened to break into the Archives, to carve your way in with one of the old relics. Do you think you would have been successful?"
"No. I wanted to get your attention."
"Were you trying to impress me?"
A short laugh rattled in my throat. "No. I have a feeling you're far too cynical for me to woo you with a method as unsubtle as that." The worst sort of bull.
"Woo me?" Her hands unclasped and moved to her thighs. "Well, yes, 'wooing' me with the threat of violence is certainly the least effective way to grab my attention."
"Is that why you sicced Nuriye on me?"
She hesitated for a second. "There are two lines of thought suggested by your statement, M. Markham. Both of which are offensive to me and to Nuriye. Would you care to try again?"
I swallowed the rest of the rage, and took a deep breath. Her tone had gotten brittle, and it didn't take the Chorus to read an elevation in her stress level. She was right-it had been an indelicate question-but her protestation of affront was partially a cover. There was some validity to the question.
"Fine," I said, letting go of my indignation and moving on. We had gotten off-track once before, and I knew I could keep pressing her, but what would it gain me? Moral satisfaction? It would be satisfying, but it wasn't what I came for. I actually did need her help in this instance, and her permission.
"One must be invited into the sanctuary in order to approach the Grail," I said. "I know that. Just as I also know that I can't 'steal' the Grail; it has to be offered to me."
"And why would I offer it to you?"
"Because you're supposed to."
She stood and walked away; she walked back to the basin and looked down at the glowing light. "Is that right?" she said finally.
"All this bullshit about Hildegard and destinies aside-this endless argument of Free Will versus Determinism that is the topic on everyone's mind-we were talking about coincidences. You tried to distract me, but it's not coincidental that a Visionary died yesterday to put me on this path, that I had to take the Spear from a Mason, and that a Scryer asked me to bring the Grail to him. It's all part of Philippe's grand fucking plan to re-create the world:
it's the cosmological re-creation of the original meeting between the twelfth-century trinity."
"You're reading too much into recent events," she said.
"That's a hollow sounding excuse," I continued. "Bernard du Guyon thought he was playing at God with his little soul harvester, but he's like a kid with his first magic trick compared to Philippe, isn't he?"
Vivienne shrugged. "I wouldn't know."
"Your father wasn't part of the plan, was he? He was a casualty in this war. He wasn't supposed to die." I paused for a second, making sure I had the right answer before I took the next step. Who thought he had Seen his victorious ascension into the role? Who wanted it the most? Who wanted to be Hierarch?
"What did he promise you?" I asked.
"Who?" Vivienne tried.
"Husserl."
"The Preceptor?" Vivienne shook her head. "Why would he promise me anything?" She wouldn't look at me. Her lie-the Preceptor-was so transparent that I wondered why she had bothered.
"Did he promise to free you?"
"No." I detected a note of sorrow in her voice. The expected outrage was there, as was defiance at being cast in the role of victim. But underneath all that, a hint of sadness. A resigned exhalation, an acceptance of some weight that she was to carry for the rest of her life.
"No, of course not." I said, as if I realized the error of my question. "Marielle was the one who dangled that carrot."
She tried to hide her reaction, but she knew I had already heard the sudden intake of breath. She knew I had seen her hands tighten on the rim of the basin. Vivienne laughed, a hollow sound devoid of any warmth or humor. "She has a great deal of faith in the blind devotion of her suitors. How many did she promise the Crown to?"
It was something Husserl had said at Notre-Dame-sous-Terre when I had asked him about Marielle. I won't try to convince you that she came willingly, because you won't believe me. I had been too distracted to listen closely to what he had been saying, but there had been time during the drive to reflect on everything. And the more I thought about the situation, the more it started to make sense.
Marielle had been frantic to get to Mont-Saint-Michel, not for Antoine's sake-though he was just as useful a tool as I-but to secure the Spear. When I had joined her in the grotto and the others had arrived, it had been my job to go fight them, and I had gone willingly. But, the more I replayed events in my head, the more I realized how eager we all were to fight for her. Even at the safe house where Lafoutain had died. Delacroix had practically thrown himself at her feet in an effort to please her.
The winner gets the prize. And they all knew it. She didn't care, or maybe she did-it was hard to tell anymore-and besides there was no end of suitable suitors. How many?
Me? Just one more in an endless line of suckers.
My bluster deflated, like a balloon with a sudden leak. The question of how many-how many others had been tasked before me? — revealed my indignation as the empty posturing that it was. Like the anonymous voices in the Chorus, I was just a face in the crowd. An able body who had been tasked with serving the whim of the Hierarch's Daughter.
Vivienne hadn't escaped Marielle's grasp either. The light from the basin only highlighted the bloodless resignation in Vivienne's face. We had all been used.
"Vivienne Lafoutain, Chief among the Archivists of the Secrets of La Societe Lumineuse, I ask a boon of you. I ask that you give me leave to bear the Grail to the Coronation ceremony." I didn't bother trying to hide my bitterness. Just get it done. Just finish the task assigned you. Receive your pat on the head like a good soldier-my ever dutiful wolf-and go sit in the corner and wait to be called again.
Vivienne grimaced at my words, similar thoughts running through her head. "Landis Michael Markham, solute frater and willing Quester for the office of Hierarch, I grant you leave to approach and take up the Grail." She stepped back from the basin, indicating it with a wave of her hand. "Should it find you worthy," she added, her words equally caustic.
I stood, and approached the basin. I looked in, but nothing had changed. There was nothing there but the gold lining. Nevertheless, I put my hand in the water.
The gold plating shivered, and at first I thought it was the water itself that was rippling and then I realized the motion was coming from the gold. It lifted free of the stone, crumpling and twisting into a smaller shape. I held my hand still, and the gold brushed across my fingers, wrapping and unwrapping itself across my flesh, and a tingling sensation like a mild electric current ran up my arm. I felt parts of my body twitch and itch. All the gashes and cuts and bruises sustained over the last few days were burning. As the gold Cup formed itself in the water of the basin, its touch healed me, including the cut in my arm from the Spear; the Grail healed all of my wounds, except for the one in my soul.
Nuriye was waiting for us as we stepped out of the tapestry, a long cloth of maroon and midnight in her hands. I wrapped the fabric around the Grail, and its light was strong enough that the gold threads in the fabric glowed, hidden veins of light. I carried it in the crook of my arm, almost as if I were cradling a child.
Nuriye fell in step with Vivienne, and they both fell back a few steps, herding me toward the foyer of the Archives. The route back was shorter; the Archives hadn't reconfigured themselves when we had been in the inner chapel, the daughters simply wanted me gone and guided me along the shortest route.
The script on the guardian wall glowed gold as we approached-not silver as it had the last time I had left the Archives-and the wall faded away when I raised the cloth-covered Grail.
The foyer was empty; there was no sign of Antoine.
"Where did he go?" I asked the women behind me.
Nuriye shrugged as she took two steps back. The shadow of a stack fell on her and her face became unreadable.
"He went back down to the car," Vivienne said. Her voice was flat, toneless, and the Chorus tightened in my gut. She had been withdrawn since the Grail had formed in my hand, and I didn't blame her. The only reason my heart was racing was because of the relic in my hand. She was lost in her own head, in her own guilt and remorse. The light had changed when I had lifted the Grail from the basin. It was still radiant, a glow that would transfix anyone who laid eyes upon the Cup, but it wasn't as bright. We felt the loss of light; we carried the memory of a brighter star, and everything seemed dimmer now. It was easy to let shadows prey on our minds.
I hesitated on the edge of the Archives. The floor beneath my feet was still polished wood. One step away from the cold marble of the lobby. The Grail hadn't crossed the threshold yet. I could give it back. I could put it down and walk away.
It is your fight, the Chorus whispered. It is your right. Take it. Claim the Crown. She will give you her love. Above all others, she loves you the best.
"What is it?" Vivienne asked.
"Why?" I asked. The Chorus hissed and attacked my doubt, silver snakes darting through the fog in my brain, slaying the rising phantoms of disbelief.
"That is a question without answer, M. Markham. That is an aimless question, one that has no purpose. Surely you are of a stronger mind than that?"
"Why me?" I clarified. If Marielle had so many suitors to pick from, why had she chosen me? Why had Husserl allowed me to be the one?
"Really, Monsieur. You expect me to know the answer to that question?"
I stepped away from the edge and returned to Vivienne. Close enough to examine her face. Searching for some clue, some idea as to where I had failed, because-the Chorus' elation at having the Grail in hand, notwithstanding-I had a nagging feeling that something was very wrong. The spirits in my head couldn't shake the sensation, much as they tried. In some ways, their eagerness to take the Grail across the threshold only increased my apprehension. Too many possibilities with thresholds. Too many chances for the world to change suddenly when you stepped across into another world.
"Goodbye, M. Markham," Vivienne said after tolerating my examination for a moment. "We have called the elevator f
or you. It is time for you to leave." Her face was a porcelain mask, smooth and without any lines or markings. There was nothing to read, nor did her eyes reveal any emotion. Just a blank wall.
"What have we lost?" I asked her, and her eyes went even colder. The light was hidden behind a thick veil.
"Please, Monsieur," Nuriye said from the shadows. "Respect our wishes. You have taken our light. Just go, and leave us in these shadows."
Vivienne remained frozen, though I could detect a tiny tremor at the corner of her mouth. A tiny quiver that, if I were to watch it long enough, might develop into a fracture. But I didn't stay; I let the Chorus pull me away, and I walked backward from the two daughters. Unwilling to turn my back on them. Not yet.
The Grail shivered in my arms as I crossed the threshold and the shining veins in the cloth went dark. The bundle in my arm was heavy, but it wasn't dead weight. There was still power in the Cup, but it was diminished even further now. It wouldn't show any radiance again until it was filled. Not until the morning light filled its golden bowl.
I waited for a second, but the walls didn't materialize. Vivienne and Nuriye remained still, watching me. Waiting for me to leave.
The Chorus swarmed and sparked, pulling me toward the elevator. Pulling me and the Grail. What was I waiting for? Nuriye was right. I had taken the light from the chapel. There was no reason to stay here, no reason to watch the shadows creep into the Archives. I had done enough.
The elevator, the Chorus reminded me as its bell rang. It is time.
I turned.
There was no elevator. The doors were open, but there was no car. Just an open shaft.
"It is time."
At the sound of the voice, an external echo to the internal vibration of the Chorus, I turned around. But something struck my lower back before I could reverse myself, before I could complete my turn. The Chorus, furiously tugging at me a second before, collapsed into a burning knot. Pinned, like an angry butterfly. The Grail, even though it was wrapped in the cloth, felt slippery against my arm, and when I looked down at the bundle in my arms, I was distracted by the bloody tip of the Spear protruding from my side.
