Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  The music ended too soon; Girgan slowed to a stop, stretching their bodies out in a final posture, Cova’s back stretching, the muscles in her legs burning. A sheen of sweat masked her skin. What had just happened was a dream.

  As the last strains of music echoed throughout the hall, and Cova and Girgan stretched out their final pose, the ballroom erupted in applause. Cova blinked; she had forgotten that anyone else was present.

  Girgan spun Cova away, and she curtsied as he bowed. Then he took her hand once more, and they left the dance floor.

  “That was… that was incredible,” Cova managed, when she had caught her breath. The Rodenese waltz was danced to slow music, and while much of the movement was incredibly fast, the dancers’ topline remained very still, giving the illusion of ease and serenity. In reality, the intricate footwork required great coordination and balance, not to mention endurance.

  Girgan was once again smiling that ridiculous, silly grin of his. “You were incredible, Miss Cova. No lady of the Citadel could dance the way you did just now.”

  Cova found herself blushing, genuinely this time, at the compliment. She smiled back at him, hoping hers was a bit more serene. “There are no men in Roden who could have done what you just did, I assure you.” She punched his arm lightly. “And call me Cova. What did I tell you?”

  Girgan laughed. “Of course. I’ll not forget again.”

  “Best not.”

  They circulated once more, arm in arm, and this time Cova’s dress seemed the last thing on people’s minds. Or on their tongues, at any rate. Everyone is enthralled by me, Cova thought, not without excitement. By us, she corrected herself. It was perfect. If she was to rule one day, this was exactly the sentiment she needed from the nobility.

  Her father told her as much when they found him. He smiled at her, a rare occurrence, and embraced her, whispering in her ear. “You’ve done well tonight, daughter. Better than I could have ever imagined. You will make a powerful empress.”

  Those words echoed in Cova’s mind for days.

  15

  Harmoth estate

  CINZIA STOOD NEAR THE pond on the estate grounds, listening to the Beldam preach. The Beldam’s principal choice of topic was the Nine Daemons, and while Cinzia’s curiosity was piqued—the woman seemed to know more about them than she did—what she said about the tiellans was not right. Not to mention the woman’s rhetoric was troubling in and of itself. Why go on about the problem if you can’t offer a solution? “Be afraid,” was the Beldam’s message. Fear was dangerous. Fear could override all of the progress Cinzia and Jane had made.

  “The Sfaera is being reborn, whether we like it or not,” the Beldam was saying. “The world changes, and we must change with it. We must leave behind the things of the old world. We must shed ourselves of those that would hold us back. There are some around us—even in this camp—who would stop us from progressing. Who want us to go back to the ancient ways. We must not let them.”

  The crowd that had gathered around the Beldam today was completely human. Cinzia had seen a few tiellans the last time she had come to hear the Beldam speak, but most had walked away before the Beldam had finished. Cinzia could understand why.

  The Beldam was sowing discord. She was dividing the camp rather than uniting it.

  After the speech, Cinzia waited until the crowd had dispersed, then approached the Beldam.

  “Ah, Priestess Cinzia,” the Beldam said, her wrinkled face splitting into a smile. “I wondered when you might come see me.”

  Cinzia was surprised at how short the Beldam was—Cinzia herself was short for a human, but this woman barely reached her shoulder. “And what should I call you? I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  The Beldam chuckled, the sound of her laugh like paper. “You’re not the only one. I may have forgotten it myself. Around here, people just call me the Beldam.”

  “And that is how you… prefer to be called?” Why anyone would choose to be called such a name was beyond Cinzia’s comprehension.

  The Beldam shrugged. “I don’t mind. Better I call myself such a thing than others call me worse behind my back.”

  “You’re beginning to draw quite the following,” Cinzia said, nodding at the departing Odenites, who were speaking excitedly to one another. It was an excitement Cinzia had always sought to create with her own sermons, but only achieved on occasion.

  The Beldam’s smile broadened. “What a miracle that is, isn’t it? That someone like me can become an instrument in the Goddess’s hands to reach so many.”

  Cinzia returned the smile, not without effort. Did this woman truly think she was doing the will of the Goddess? “We are all instruments in the hands of the Goddess, in one way or another. That’s one of the many miracles of life, although precious few of us ever become cognizant of that fact.”

  “If I can help others realize that very thing, I can die happy.”

  Cinzia had hoped the Beldam might reveal more about why she thought she had the authority to preach to these people, but it was obviously not going to be that easy.

  As the Beldam shuffled around gathering up her belongings—including a few books, the titles of which Cinzia was intensely curious to know—Cinzia thought of a different approach.

  “And what brought you to our estate, Miss… er… Beldam?”

  “Canta brought me here, just as She has brought everyone else. Just as She continues to bring people.”

  “But everyone has a story about where they came from and what prompted them to come here. I love hearing those stories, I think it… I think it gives me strength, reminds me of the importance of what we’re doing. Would you tell me yours?” In fact, the tales Cinzia had heard she found disturbing: people hearing voices, experiencing strange feelings, not being able get Tinska out of their minds. Elessa, it seemed, had only been the beginning.

  The Beldam hefted her satchel. “I suppose I could,” she said. “If you would accompany me to my tent?”

  Cinzia nodded. “Of course.” She reached out her hand. “I can carry your bag, if you like.”

  The Beldam waved her off, already walking away. “Don’t worry about me, my dear. I may be old, but I’m not weak. Not yet, anyway. I’m not sure you’ll like my story as much as some of the others.” She walked quickly for one of such age.

  “I’m only curious,” Cinzia said, hurrying after her.

  The Beldam sighed. “Very well. I came, most recently, from Cineste. I was traveling to the west coast to meet an old friend of mine. But when I got to Tinska that friend was no longer there to greet me.”

  “She left?”

  “She died,” the Beldam said. “It happens when you get to be my age. And at least she’s avoiding all of this.” The Beldam spread out her hands wide.

  “You mean the Rising?”

  “That’s not the only thing to despair of in our day, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do. Are the Nine Daemons not enough of a threat?”

  “No, my dear, I’m afraid they are not.”

  “You’re referring to the tiellans?”

  The Beldam paused, glancing around. “I’m referring to all the things wrong with the Sfaera today. It’s impossible to pinpoint any one thing.”

  “You’re deflecting my question,” Cinzia said. She could feel the frustration growing within her. “You don’t think your rhetoric is against the tiellans?”

  “I only speak truth.”

  “And you believe the truth is that tiellans are descended from the Nine Daemons?”

  “Truth is truth, my dear.”

  Cinzia refrained from rolling her eyes. “Where do you get your information? And how do you know about the Rising?”

  The Beldam’s smile returned. “Ah yes. I’m afraid you’re not the only woman to have left the Cantic Denomination’s Ministry, Cinzia.”

  Cinzia’s eyes widened. “You… you were with the Ministry? A priestess?”

  “For a time, yes. And then a matron
, and then a high priestess. And now I am what you see today.”

  “You were a high priestess? How long ago?”

  “I was a high priestess before you were born, my dear.”

  “But you… left. Why?”

  “Why did you leave? Why would anyone? Because the goings-on in the Denomination were no longer directed by our Goddess. I’m sure things have only gotten worse, now. I’m surprised the Ministry isn’t hemorrhaging women by the day. I would pay my weight in gold if it meant I could’ve gotten out earlier than I did.”

  “And this is how you know so much about the Nine Daemons?” Cinzia asked. “Because you were in the Denomination?”

  The Beldam stopped. They had arrived at a small lean-to tent at the edge of the grounds. “This is me,” the Beldam said, tossing her satchel down.

  “This is where you sleep?” Cinzia asked, trying to contain her surprise. She knew some of the Odenites did not live in ideal conditions, but it was something else entirely to see it up close.

  The Beldam sat on a tree stump near the lean-to and looked up at Cinzia. “Dozens of people come to hear me speak. Not one of them cares where I lay my head. That’s the nature of the world, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so.”

  The Beldam reached down to massage one of her feet. Cinzia stood awkwardly, not sure what else to do. Eventually her curiosity got the better of her.

  “How did you come to know so much about the Nine Daemons?” Cinzia asked. “Even in the Ministry, information was scarce.”

  “As a high priestess I had access to certain texts and other… things. Things we do not show the matrons or priestesses, let alone the general public. One of those things is a fragmented copy of the Nine Scriptures.”

  Cinzia blinked.

  The Beldam chuckled. “They didn’t tell you that at the seminary, did they?”

  Cinzia shook her head slowly. “No,” she said, “they did not.” She wondered what the Beldam would say if she knew that Cinzia and Jane were translating the Nine Scriptures, that they actually had the original version. “Could you tell us what you know?” Cinzia asked. Whatever the Beldam was teaching about the Nine Daemons, Cinzia and Jane had not gotten to that part in the Nine Scriptures yet—assuming, of course, that the fragmented texts the Denomination held in their possession were real. Cinzia wouldn’t be surprised if they were fake.

  They had to be fake. This nonsense about the tiellans couldn’t possibly be true.

  “I preach what I know every day, by the pond,” the Beldam said. “You can learn just as well there as anyone.”

  “I’m not sure it is wise to preach of the Nine Daemons, inciting such fear. But if you told us what you know, we might be able to offer something more than simply fear.”

  “Like what? Do you think you can actually offer protection? From the Nine Daemons?”

  “We can,” Cinzia said. It wasn’t an outright lie, at least; she and Jane were hoping to find out more about how to fight the Nine Daemons.

  The Beldam considered this for a moment. “Very well,” she finally said. “If you truly think we can do something to protect these people…”

  “One condition,” Cinzia said.

  “What is that, my dear?”

  “You can’t mention the tiellans in your sermons. You can’t call them the children of the Nine Daemons.”

  The Beldam’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Now you’re starting to sound like the Denomination,” she said. “Telling me what I can and can’t say.”

  Cinzia’s cheeks grew hot. “You want to protect these people? Then you will do as I say. You can speak of whatever you wish when you’re alone, but we are going to protect these people. What you’ve been saying is harmful.”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  “I don’t care how you see it,” Cinzia snapped, surprised at her anger. “You will either stop, or we will take further action.”

  The Beldam frowned, her ancient eyes meeting Cinzia’s. For a moment, Cinzia thought the woman might refuse.

  But, finally, the Beldam nodded. “I will do as you say,” she said. “If you truly think you can protect us.”

  16

  Harmoth estate

  KNOT LEANED BACK AGAINST the west wall of the house, watching the sun set into the ocean. To his right, from somewhere in the grounds on the northern side of the manor, Knot heard the buzz of the Odenites. Five more had arrived that day, a human family of four, and an older tiellan woman.

  Jane and Cinzia were busy translating their book; he’d poked his head in earlier that evening. Jane had insisted that he not enter the room, only stand in the doorway, so as not to see the bloody tome they were translating. They were so protective of it. Wished he could say it had nothing to do with him, but that didn’t seem to be the case anymore. Izet had changed that.

  The sun was just above the horizon now, a red-orange orb. Knot heard footsteps and tensed. He turned to see Elessa approaching him.

  “Sorry,” Elessa said, “I didn’t know you were here.”

  Knot shrugged. “I don’t own the place. You can go where you please.”

  “That may be true, but if I’m… if I’m disturbing you, I can go.”

  “Ain’t disturbing nobody,” Knot muttered.

  When she did not respond, Knot began to feel uncomfortable. He could leave, or get a conversation going. His choice surprised him.

  “You arrived here a year ago,” Knot said, recalling their earlier conversation. “Told me it was a story for another time.”

  Elessa leaned against the wall next to Knot. She walked with a certain poise, something Knot recognized. There was nobility there, sure. But something else, too, a casual preparedness, a tensing of the muscles and fluidity in the step that bespoke combat training, though the woman carried no weapon that Knot could see.

  “I suppose we could go into that story now, if you like,” Elessa said. “There really isn’t much to tell. I’m afraid it won’t be as exciting as I made it seem.”

  “I’ve got low expectations,” Knot said.

  “Very well,” Elessa said. “But I don’t know you very well, Knot. I’d like to hear a bit more about you, too, being the Healed One and all.”

  Knot snorted. “I can tell you about me, but I asked first, darlin’.”

  Elessa smiled. “I came to Tinska one year ago because my parents died,” she said, her eyes sad. “Before that I lived my entire life in Turandel, a city on the coast south of here. And then my parents died, and I… I had no reason to stay.”

  “Who were your parents?” Knot asked.

  “My last name is Storonam,” Elessa said, reluctantly. “My parents were Ingran and Faria.”

  Knot blinked. Ingran and Faria Storonam. Definitely sounded familiar. There was a strange itch in the back of Knot’s mind. This was the sensation he needed to avoid, he knew, the one he’d felt when he arrived at Harmoth, just before…

  “Sorry to hear they passed away,” Knot said. He thought Elessa twitched at his words, but in the dying light he couldn’t be sure.

  “When my parents were taken from me, something… changed. All the things that used to matter, no longer did. Reintegrating myself into the noble circles of Turandel as a newly orphaned woman did not feel natural. And, soon, I… I was impelled to leave.”

  Knot frowned. “Impelled? The other nobles pressured you?”

  “No, it wasn’t that. Well, it was, but that’s not what I meant. I was impelled by other means.” She met Knot’s eyes. “Have you spoken with Jane about her visions?”

  Knot chewed his cheek. He’d heard Jane speak of her visions. Never quite had a conversation with the woman about them. Religions concerned him about as much as governments. Or at least they had until Izet.

  “I’m not saying I had a vision,” Elessa said quickly. “I’m not anything like Jane. But I did receive an impression… a feeling, that I should leave Turandel, and come here.”

  Knot raised his eyebrows. He didn’t care much what other p
eople believed so long as it didn’t affect him, but this sounded more than a bit crazy.

  “If it was a feeling, how did you know to come here?”

  “I… I can’t say for sure,” Elessa said. “I just know I ended up here. Where I am supposed to be.”

  Knot nodded, but it sounded bloody crazy. “You’ve spoken with Jane about this?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Elessa said. “I’ve been meaning to, but she’s been so busy…”

  “I’ll get you in to speak with her,” Knot said. Despite his skepticism, Knot had one other thing in mind. Cinzia, supposedly, had experienced a revelation in Navone, a revelation they’d followed. That revelation had left Lian, Winter, and Kovac dead, and had nearly killed everyone else. Jane and Cinzia had informed them later, after Izet, that the revelation had not been from Canta. It had been from somewhere else, likely the same source of the being that possessed Kovac, likely the same source that had confronted Knot, Winter, and Astrid underneath the imperial dome. Oddly enough, Knot had never resented Cinzia for leading them astray. It did not seem to have been her fault. It’d been his idea to go to Roden in the first place, anyway.

  “That would mean a lot to me,” Elessa said. “Thank you.”

  If Elessa had indeed been influenced by a force of some kind, better for Jane and Cinzia to discern what it was before something bad happened again. And if what they had experienced was nothing, then perhaps Jane could tell them that, too.

  Knot sighed. “Your parents,” he said. “Their name sounds so familiar to me, but I can’t quite place it.” The itch was there, again, in the back of his mind.

  “Have you ever been to Turandel?” Elessa asked.