A Breach in the Heavens

by NS Dolkart

  “So what happens if Bandu dies? Do I lose you again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They sat together in silence. Delika had never really thought about Criton’s mortality since his return, but now it weighed on her. He didn’t look like a man whose time was running out. His body was tall and strong, and ought by rights to seem invulnerable, but if his life was tied to Bandu’s… she wished Criton’s first wife hadn’t looked so old already.

  They lay together that night just holding each other, since Criton still felt too guilty for sex and, if she was being honest with herself, Delika wasn’t in the mood either. There was too much for her to process, too much to worry about. Criton’s embrace was warm and comforting, as it had always been, but her mind was full of doubts and it was a long time before she fell asleep.

  The next day, Pitra sidled up to her while Criton was relieving himself in the woods and remarked, “Quiet night last night. Didn’t hear the usual birdsong.”

  Delika recoiled. “Did you stay up listening for it?”

  “I’m not embarrassed to say so,” Pitra laughed. “It’s a sweet song.”

  “Well, try singing to yourself sometime, if it helps you sleep.”

  Pitra grinned wider and retreated. Delika shuddered and clung to Criton all the harder upon his return. In the old days, before she had had him to protect her, her insolence would have gotten her struck. Being Criton’s wife – and before that, his ward – had saved her a lot of unpleasantness.

  How long would his protection last?

  17

  Narky

  By the time Narky stepped back onto Ardis’ stone streets, he was feeling better. His city and Criton’s would send their joint delegation and, if fate was kind, extract Sephas from Atuna without a fight. He delivered the message to Mageris himself, pleased to have good news for once. The king thanked him tersely – and even terse thanks were unusual, coming from him – and Narky left the palace for the great temple, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

  It was a good day, so good that Narky would have whistled or sung if he’d had a talent for either. Political developments were aligning his way for once, and the journey back from Arca had cleared his head – he had found a solution to the problem of the scroll.

  He had barely crossed halfway through the temple square when Grace ran out from the entrance, arms waving. “Pa!” he cried. “I read a whole chapter today! You’d have been amazed.”

  “I am amazed!” Narky said, beaming at his son. “I’m amazed just hearing about it!”

  Grace and his tutor were about halfway through the annotated Second Cycle, which had been the central Elkinaran text before the merger with Ravennis – or rather, before Narky’s revelation that the two Gods had always been the same. It was frustrating, actually, that Narky could never quite accept his own version of events. Perhaps Sephas would soon be in his power, but how could he ever hope to defeat the Sephan heresy if he harbored it in his own heart?

  “And what did you learn?” he asked his son.

  Grace stared at him blankly. “Um,” he said. “A bunch of stuff.”

  “Sounds about right. Could you find Lepidos and tell him to meet me in the library? I’ll tell you all about my trip soon, but there’s something I need to do first that’ll take a while. You can practice your spear dance with Father Pygion in the meantime.”

  “All right,” Grace said, disappointed that he couldn’t have Narky’s complete attention for the rest of the day, but also happy about the spear dance. Narky hadn’t let him practice spear dancing recently, afraid as he was of accidents. There was tumbling involved, which meant for Grace that there was a lot of falling involved, and Narky still had plenty of his nervous father in him. More so, now that he was himself a father.

  But Grace loved to practice and he loved to dance, so Narky gave him a kiss and watched him race back inside. What a beautiful child, that little carob of his. There were other children his age in the temple’s community – children of priests or of priestesses, orphans taken in and trained to serve their God – but Grace stood out from his surroundings, with his rich brown skin and his unbridled enthusiasm for seemingly everything. Nonetheless, he fit into his community in a way that Narky never had. Narky had always been a sort of monster, an aberration; Grace was just unique.

  Narky was not the only descendent of the archipelago in Ardis, but it often seemed that way. Ardis had never been a welcoming place for outsiders, and it had accepted Narky more as a symbol of his God than as a person. They still called him the Black Priest, just as Criton had been called the Black Dragon. But not Grace. When they called him by any name besides his own, it was to use the nickname his mother had given him as an infant: Carob.

  Narky entered the temple after his son and made his way past the main chamber with its statues and murals toward the back rooms where the priests lived and studied. The library was a small room, a former priest’s bedroom that had been converted for its current purposes as a storage space for the ancient Elkinaran texts – and the new Ravennian ones. These latter were growing over time: Lepidos had undertaken the transcribing of sermons into a compilation that would, Narky hoped, not contradict itself too often.

  Well, this task would suit him. When Lepidos arrived, bowing to his superior, Narky handed him the Sephan tract and a pen, and told him to sit down.

  “This scroll was a test,” he told the priest. “Ravennis wanted to see if we’d recognize a prophecy if it came to us through our enemies.”

  “But Your Eminence,” Lepidos objected, “you heard how it insulted–”

  “We’re going to clean it up,” Narky interrupted him. “You’re going to read it again, and I’ll tell you how to fix it. We’re going to pull the prophecy out from under all the blasphemy.”

  Lepidos looked down at the scroll skeptically, but he soon began to read. Narky corrected him as he went, ordering some lines altered and others struck entirely, carving Ravennis’ message out from within its warped exterior. It took some time for Lepidos to understand what he was doing, but by the time they were halfway through he had caught up and begun suggesting words to replace the old insults, improving on Narky’s simple language with his own lyrical elaborations.

  When the scroll had been marked and scratched from beginning to end, Narky had him read the new version, and they made a second set of changes. Then Narky left him to copy the final version onto a new parchment and burn the old reed paper. Tonight, Lepidos could read the prophecy to Ptera and the junior priests; tomorrow, he could deliver it as a sermon to the entire city.

  Narky had made the right decision. He knew it. The fact that any other high priest would have tried to suppress the prophecy, rather than coopting it, wasn’t a sign that he was doing things wrong – it was the very reason Narky had been chosen to serve in this capacity. Ravennis didn’t make mistakes.

  What a relief it was to have made his choice and followed his God without compromise, turning compliance and doubt into action and certainty. If his instincts were wrong he’d know soon enough, but he was sure they weren’t. Ptera would be impressed, for all that she’d been skeptical at first. He knew she’d see how perfect it was. Just as she’d taken Magor’s spear dance and made it Ravennian, Narky had taken Sephas’ prophecy and reclaimed it for their God.

  He went to watch Grace practice his dance, a choice that delighted his son beyond words. The spear dance was a beautiful thing to behold, really, when everything went well. Today, it was going well. Narky’s son leapt and twirled with his weapon, sounding his childish battle cries with pride. It was sweet the way he glowed when Narky made time to watch and praise him. Narky wondered if he would have been the same at this age. He hadn’t received much praise as a child.

  When sunset put an end to Grace’s practice time, Narky took him out to help with the evening sacrifices. Ardis was a large and prosperous enough city that there were always sacrifices to keep its priests well-fed, whether the offering party was celebrating
or atoning for something. Most of a sacrifice would be offered to Ravennis, but a portion always went to the priests, whether it was fruit or grain, oil or livestock. Grace didn’t like slaughtering animals, but he had to learn sometime. Narky hadn’t liked it as a child either.

  It was sad – though appropriate – that he only got to handle livestock these days when his task was to kill them. Narky had loved tending the sheep when he was younger. He would talk to the ewes as he milked them, and he loved to see the lambs play their little chasing games. His favorite task had been shearing, freeing the poor overheated animals from their winter wool. Now the only moments he had with them were those right before he slit their throats and offered them to his God. Maybe after he died, Ravennis would let him tend the animals he’d killed. He could have his own little farm with his family, and never worry about politics or theology again.

  Ptera had been out all afternoon, visiting the sick and the dying, but at her return he gathered the other priests in the library to hear the results of his work with Lepidos. They listened intently while Lepidos read the revised prophecy aloud, saving their questions for the end. When he had finished, Lepidos rolled the scroll in his hands and nodded to Narky. Then came the questions.

  “How are we to interpret this for the people?” a priestess named Lymantria asked. “What are the consequences of the wager?”

  “The interpretation is simple,” Narky said. “Just like the first martyrs sacrificed themselves in Laarna, and the next ones did the same right here in Atuna, Ravennis asks us to protect our eternity above our lives. Given the choice between survival and service to our God, we have to always choose service.”

  “Will we be given this choice soon?” asked Father Pygion. “Has Mageris decided to make war against Salemica after all?”

  “No,” Narky answered. “At least, the king hasn’t told me so. But we have to be ready for this choice at any time. Ravennis wants us to prepare ourselves every day. He knows it’s not easy; He had to die Himself in order to become the Lord Below.”

  “What role does the Dragon Touched God play in this? What’s the meaning of the wager to His followers?”

  Ptera’s question brought Narky up short – trust her to find a point he hadn’t considered. He and Lepidos had discussed the prophecy’s implications as they revised it, but they had focused entirely on the implications for the Church of Ravennis, not the worshippers of God Most High. Her question was sharp and political; in some ways, more political than Pygion’s. It deserved a well-reasoned answer.

  He tried to think back to the few times he’d discussed theology with High Priest Kilion. It had been a nervewracking experience, as Kilion had been steeped in his people’s culture and philosophy from birth, whereas Narky had been more or less making things up as he went along. Every question from his counterpart, every comment, had felt like an attack, no matter how benignly Kilion had put it.

  Kilion had claimed that the underworld was temporary, that someday God Most High would empty it of its souls and bring everyone back to this world. Since Narky had declared Ravennis to be a servant of God Most High – a small price to pay for ending the war between Ardis and the Dragon Touched – Kilion had suggested that Ravennis must have been sent to sort the dead in the meantime. He’d thought the Lord Below must be a kind of administrator.

  Narky had pushed back on this as best he could. Who needed to come back here, when Ravennis could grant people all the rewards they needed – or inflict upon them all the punishments they deserved – in the world below?

  “I’m not High Priest Kilion,” Narky said, buying time as he thought through the problem. “I can’t say for sure how they’ll interpret this prophecy, or whether they’ll even accept it. They should, but that’s up to them and not us. Here’s what I can say: the Dragon Touched believe that their God will someday bring everyone back from the underworld. They think it’s only temporary, a place to wait until their God returns everyone to this world for some kind of endless celebration.

  “The God Most High in the prophecy is standing in for that view. He represents the Dragon Touched, not their actual God, because this prophecy comes from Ravennis and not God Most High. Ravennis is speaking to us. His prophecy asks us whose interpretation we’ll trust: the Dragon Touched, or our own.

  “We know that eternal life exists only in Ravennis’ care. We know the reason Ravennis sacrificed Laarna, and Himself, was so that He could bring order to the underworld and safeguard our souls for eternity. The Dragon Touched, who only see this life, want us to believe that our lives are more important than our God; they want us to think His domain is only a place of waiting and He can’t give us any more than we already have up here. We know better. Eternal life isn’t what we get after the underworld that Ravennis has prepared for us, it is the underworld. That’s the meaning of the prophecy.”

  There. That had come out better than he’d hoped. Ptera nodded in satisfaction, and Lepidos seemed happy with the answer too. He would likely elaborate on it, theologian that he was, but if Narky had given him a solid foundation to build on, that was an accomplishment in itself.

  The questions that came after Ptera’s were simpler to answer, and Narky went to bed that night satisfied that he had accomplished what he’d meant to. His wife and son slept peacefully beside him as he ran through the day in his mind. He was proud of what he’d done with the Sephan prophecy. It was right.

  The prophecy itself was still worrisome, of course, but granting it official legitimacy would hopefully diffuse its significance. Narky certainly hoped its message of prioritizing Ravennis over this life was a broad one meant for all the God’s followers – that was certainly more comforting than believing it applied specifically to him. He wondered if his decision had actually changed the prophecy’s meaning, had made it apply more broadly. One could never be quite sure with these things. As his friend Phaedra had once said, the Gods were mysterious beings.

  In any case, now he could concentrate on his more mundane problems: Sephas, Mageris, church politics. They all had the potential to cause real trouble – and Mageris might someday become an actual danger – but none were as frightening as the thought that Narky might soon have to sacrifice himself to his God. Compared to that, anything looked tame.

  If there was one thing Narky appreciated, it was how tame his life had become. He hoped it would last.

  18

  Dessa

  When the ships returned, Dessa was ready. She stood by the customs house, watching people disembark. There were a few islanders among them, but they were all soldiers and deckhands, and none matched Phaedra’s description. Dessa had grown to expect as much. She had positioned herself in the best place to hear news, and hear it she did: the Tarphaean witch had chosen to stay on the island after the pirates were defeated. She had walked into the forest and never come back.

  The Atunaean fleet had been devastated by the battle against the pirates, and there was much talk about how the High Council would have to commission more warships fast, before Parakas or some island nation took advantage of its losses. Dessa mourned the loss of life and power and prestige along with the rest of them, but she was secretly glad to hear that the Glimmering Sea had gone down. It was her first indication that God Most High didn’t hate her, for if He’d hated her, He would have helped her get on that ship. She could even choose to believe that it was His hand that had kept her off it. Maybe her luck was finally changing.

  Now Dessa just needed to decide whether she ought to try to reach Tarphae, or if it made more sense to wait in Atuna. She could probably get there now, if she wanted to: she’d heard some men mention as they passed that Karassa’s power over the island was broken, and that surely meant that Atuna would lay claim to it. The High Council would send surveyors, and soon afterward they would start selling parcels of land. She could find passage if she needed it.

  On the other hand, anyone trying to leave the island would surely have to go through Atuna again. If Dessa stayed here, she wa
s far less likely to get lost or stranded and somehow miss Phaedra’s departure. Besides which, she didn’t have the funds to bring a few weeks’ worth of food supplies with her to Karsanye just to sit there until Phaedra came through the port. As it was, she would need to find more work here to keep herself fed.

  “People of Atuna!” shouted an angry voice nearby. It was one of those Sephan cultists again – they always wore those burlap mourning robes, as if life was so dangerously comfortable that you needed itchy fabric to remind you of pain. They’d been an oddity in Atuna for as long as Dessa had been here, but they had started gaining a real following after the quake. This one was unusually young, a recent convert and a wealthy one, to judge by the blisters on his bare feet. He stood beside a basket of reed-paper scrolls, which was better than an empty basket. At least he didn’t expect anyone to give him money.

  “You have lived long enough in comfort and prosperity,” the man cried, “but your time is coming to an end! The days grow short until the skies come crashing down! A choice is upon you! The liar Ravennis offers eternal life, He wheedles and seduces. Will you give the fiend your souls, or will you fight for His demise? Will you sit on your haunches like livestock waiting to be slaughtered, or rise up and resist the demon God? Ravennis and His servants expect you to let your world end without a fight, to welcome your demise like fools. Rise up, people of Atuna, and defeat Him!”

  Dessa turned away. It was amazing that Atuna tolerated such people, who stood in crowded places and demanded war with Ardis at the top of their voices. It was one thing to take in refugees like Sephas, and quite another to allow such incitement. Dessa fancied she understood the Atunaean soul by now. If there was one thing Atunaeans truly believed in, from the High Council down to the meanest dock worker, it was trade. The people might go to war to maintain their city’s power, but they did not pick unnecessary fights.