Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  Assuming a more severe judgment did not arrive first.

  Then, Cinzia shook her head. “I don’t think I can do it, Jane. I couldn’t serve you faithfully.”

  “You wouldn’t be serving me, sister, you would be serving Canta.”

  Cinzia relaxed a bit. She had meant her question as a test of Jane’s humility. If Jane thought this was going to be some organization that she could exert her will over, Cinzia would have nothing to do with it.

  “In fact, what you’re saying actually tells me that you will serve faithfully. Skepticism, questioning, all of those things will be necessary in the coming days. I will need someone by my side who will not take every word I say as gospel.”

  Cinzia sighed. Damn her sister for actually making sense. “Do not play on that weakness to get me to do what you want. I will not be manipulated.”

  Jane nodded. “I understand. And I don’t believe skepticism is a weakness. I need someone like you to keep me in line.”

  “That’s a lot of responsibility,” Cinzia said.

  “It will be shared. You will not be the only one who shoulders it, sister. Trust me.”

  Cinzia looked down at the smooth pebbles at her feet. She bent and picked one up, hefting it in her hand. It was a dull brown color, and about half the size of her palm, oval in shape. She threw it, and watched the stone sail through the air before plopping anticlimactically into the waves.

  “And if you can’t trust me, trust Canta.”

  “Trust is a concept I take issue with, lately,” Cinzia said.

  “‘Those who wish to see Canta’s miracles will see them,’” Jane quoted. It was a line they had translated from the Book of Baetrissa. “‘Those who do not wish to see them will see only accident, happenstance, and serendipity,’” Jane continued. “‘For many of Canta’s miracles will be invisible to all but those who believe.’”

  Cinzia rolled her eyes. “How in Canta’s name did you remember that?” she asked. “We translated it months ago.”

  Jane shrugged, tossing a pebble up and down in her hand. “I’ve been rereading our papers.”

  “When do you have time to do that?”

  “I just find the time.” Jane threw another pebble into the ocean. It skipped a half-dozen times before sinking.

  Cinzia picked up another pebble and threw it, but once again it plopped into the water.

  “You think I can’t see Canta’s miracles?” Cinzia asked.

  “I think, at least sometimes, you may not wish to.”

  Cinzia bent to pick up another stone, this one wide and flat. As she stretched her arm back to throw, Jane caught her.

  “Not like that,” Jane said. She stretched her arm out beside her. “Throw it side-on, so the flattest section of the pebble flies parallel to the water. Make sure you get a good spin on it—use your wrist more than your arm.”

  Cinzia experimented, swinging her arm back and forth at her side. Then, winding up, she let the pebble go, flicking her wrist. The pebble sailed through the air, skipped twice, and then sank into the water.

  “Well done,” Jane said.

  Cinzia was about to look for another stone when Jane spoke.

  “It’s me, isn’t it?”

  Cinzia looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “If you witnessed the kind of miracles you’ve seen from anyone else, would it be so easy to doubt?”

  Cinzia did not have to think long about the answer. “No,” she said. “I don’t think it would be so easy.”

  Jane sighed. “I knew it. I—”

  “I don’t think it would be so easy to doubt,” Cinzia continued, “but I think I would still doubt all the same. We have our issues, but my problem with faith does not lie with you.”

  Cinzia realized the words as she spoke them. A part of her, this whole time, had been blaming Jane for her lack of faith. The truth was, it had always been her choice.

  Perhaps, now, it was time Cinzia began to choose differently.

  “If I agree to be your disciple,” Cinzia said softly, “who else will shoulder the responsibility?”

  “I’m considering a few,” Jane said. “But I wanted to get your input on them.”

  “Women, I assume?” Cinzia asked. She couldn’t imagine a male disciple any better than she could imagine a male priestess. Or priest, she supposed they would have to be called.

  “Of course,” Jane said.

  “Are all the women you’re considering named after one of the originals?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Cinzia was not the first disciple called by Canta,” Cinzia said. “Elessa had that privilege.” She made the motion, stone in hand, of throwing it as Jane had shown her. The movement felt unnatural to her.

  “What does that matter?” Jane asked. “We are following in history’s footsteps, Cinzia. We’re not duplicating it.”

  “But shouldn’t we duplicate all we can? Make it as close to Canta’s original institution as possible?”

  “Organizationally speaking, yes,” Jane said. “Looseness in that area is one of the many reasons I think the Denomination has wandered so far from what it once was. But otherwise… I think we just need to do what we think is right. I think that will be enough.”

  “Enough,” Cinzia repeated. A low bar to clear.

  “Would you like to hear who I’ve been considering?” Jane asked.

  “Good a time as any.” Cinzia sat on the ground and began removing her shoes.

  “I’ve thought about Mother, for one. She has always been a devoted Cantic, even if she was one of the last people in the family to believe me. Er… Cinzia, what are you doing?”

  Cinzia had removed her shoes and stockings, and now sat on the beach, barefoot.

  “I think I’m going to get my feet wet,” Cinzia said. “And I don’t think Mother would be a terrible choice. She is devoted. And unreasonably proud of you.”

  Jane sat next to Cinzia and began removing her own shoes. “But?”

  Cinzia shrugged. She let her feet rest on the pebbles, felt the stony smoothness in contrast to the sand. She felt like a child again. “I don’t know. Something about it doesn’t feel quite right.”

  “No,” Jane said, removing her socks now. “It doesn’t, does it?”

  “Who else?” Cinzia asked. She stood, her bare feet sinking into the beach.

  “The triplets, of course, but they are very young.”

  “Too young. Perhaps one day, but… we are not forming the Church of Oden, Jane. This is the Church of Canta—or so you keep telling me.”

  “You see?” Jane said, stepping up beside her. “This is exactly why I need you.” Then she giggled.

  “What?” Cinzia asked.

  “It’s just been a long time since I’ve done this. Barefoot, on the beach.”

  Cinzia smiled. “Me too.”

  “That woman, from the camp on our estate. Elessa. She has come to mind.”

  Yes, Cinzia thought, although she couldn’t tell whether she was reacting to Jane’s statement or to how good she felt walking towards the water. The pebbles had given way to smooth sand now, cold but comfortable on the soles of her feet.

  “The woman Knot attacked?” Cinzia asked.

  “Yes,” Jane said, walking beside Cinzia. They were approaching a line of darker sand, thoroughly wet from the water’s constant massage.

  “What do you know about her?”

  “I know she’s become something of a leader. She was one of those opposing the Beldam. People look up to Elessa.”

  Cinzia hesitated, momentarily distracted by Jane’s mention of the Beldam. They had not yet invited the woman to share what she knew, and to speak more about what they could do against the Daemons. Cinzia feared that the longer they waited, the more dire the consequences might be.

  She stopped just before they reached the tideline. “I don’t know Elessa well, but the idea of her as a Disciple does not bother me.”

  “Yes,” Jane said, standing next to Cinzia. “I fee
l the same way.”

  Jane looked at Cinzia with a nervous smile. “The water will be cold,” she said.

  Cinzia smiled back, and reached for her sister’s hand. “I know.”

  Then, gripping their skirts, they stepped forward together.

  * * *

  THEY HAD SENT FOR Elessa more than an hour ago, but she had not yet come. Cinzia was sure the woman was wary of Knot—after what Lathe had done to her, in Knot’s body, Cinzia couldn’t blame her.

  “If she doesn’t come,” Jane said, “then we have our answer.”

  Cinzia pursed her lips. She sat sideways in one of the large, overstuffed library chairs, her feet dangling over one armrest and her back resting against the other. Jane stood near the desk in the corner, shuffling through papers. Their translation of the Codex.

  Just then, a brief, sharp knock echoed in the library. Cinzia sat up immediately, smoothing her skirts. It wouldn’t do to look juvenile when the subject matter they were to be discussing was so significant.

  “Enter, please,” Jane called out.

  The door opened, and Elessa walked into the library, her back straight, head high. She wore a light silk scarf around her neck, and Cinzia knew exactly what hid underneath. She had seen the angry violet bruise starting to form only moments after Elessa had been attacked.

  “You asked to see me?”

  Cinzia stood, unsure of what she should be doing. Was standing appropriate? Or should she have remained seated? She did not want to intimidate Elessa, but wanted to offer respect, too. One would have thought her training at the Cantic seminary would have come in handy in moments like this, but Cinzia’s mind was blank.

  “Yes, Elessa,” Jane said, smiling and walking towards the woman. “We are glad you came. Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Elessa’s eyes flickered from Jane to Cinzia, and then she moved to the armchair across from where Cinzia had been lounging. She sat down on the edge of the chair, back still straight, hands folded in her lap.

  Cinzia smiled at Elessa, but the woman did not smile back. Cinzia sat back down. Jane glided over to the desk where she retrieved the matching wooden chair, and brought it over, so the three of them now sat in a triangle.

  “How are you, Elessa?” Jane asked.

  “As well as can be expected,” Elessa said, eyeing Jane warily.

  Jane reached out, placing her hand on Elessa’s knee. “Again, we are so sorry about what happened.”

  “Is that what this is about?” Elessa asked. She stared at the hand on her knee, until Jane took it away. “Are you going to tell me what happened to Knot? One moment he was himself, and the next he was looking at me as if he had never seen me before in his life. No one has told me what that was about yet, despite my asking.”

  Cinzia exchanged a glance with Jane. This was not what they intended to speak with Elessa about, but they couldn’t very well leave this woman hanging.

  “Knot did not attack you,” Cinzia said. “Or, at least, not the Knot you know. Knot is different from us, Elessa. For lack of a better description, he… he has different identities, floating around in his head. Sometimes one of these identities takes over, and he has no control over them when that happens.”

  “So… you’re saying Knot is insane?” Elessa asked.

  Jane began to speak, but Cinzia interrupted her. “Not exactly,” she said. “Normally he is very sane, but he was not in control when he… when his body attacked you. It was someone else. That does not excuse what he has done, or what happened to you. We are terribly sorry for that, and if there is anything we can do to help you, or make you feel safe, we will do it. But we wanted to at least give you something of an explanation, before we tell you why you’re here.”

  Elessa stared at Cinzia, her eyebrows knit together. Cinzia couldn’t tell whether the expression was disbelief or derision. Either seemed likely.

  “We can tell you more about it later,” Jane said. “But please, let us talk to you about something else. You, and many others like you, have gathered here. Knot told us how you came to leave your home. I was so sorry to hear about your parents.”

  “It’s fine,” Elessa said. Cinzia couldn’t read the woman’s face.

  “Knot tells us you’ve been here longer than almost anyone else, and that the reason you traveled here is… rather unusual?”

  “I…” Elessa glanced at Cinzia once more, then back to Jane. “I’m not sure I can explain it. I felt I had to come here. And not just Tinska—I knew I needed to come to an estate south of the town.” Elessa met Jane’s eyes reluctantly. “Knot, before he attacked me, he said I should talk to you about these impressions. Why would he say that?”

  And then Jane smiled. “Because I know exactly the feelings of which you speak,” Jane said excitedly. “That’s how I came to be here, too. That’s how all of this started.”

  Cinzia refrained from rolling her eyes, but she couldn’t help giving a small sigh of exasperation. What, were these two going to bond over shared visions, now?

  “What form did these impressions take?” Jane asked.

  Elessa glanced from Cinzia to Jane once more. She seemed nervous.

  “It is safe,” Jane said, smiling. “You can tell us. We of all people will believe you.”

  Speak for yourself, Cinzia thought.

  “Feelings, mostly,” Elessa said, her face flushing. “There were a few moments where it almost seemed as if someone whispered in my ear.”

  Jane nodded. “Anything else? Visions, dreams?”

  Elessa shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

  Jane’s face fell. “Quite all right,” she said. “It does not matter how Canta speaks to us, only that she communicates with us at all. And she does, as we both have seen.”

  Cinzia looked at Jane carefully. She seemed unusually disappointed by this turn of events. Had she thought there was someone else like her? Someone who actually had visions?

  Cinzia was suspicious. She once thought she had experienced personal communication with Canta, only months ago. Turned out the being that had been communicating with her—using her—was not Canta at all, but something far more malicious. Cinzia did not know what proof there was that the same thing was not happening to Elessa.

  “Have you heard my story, Elessa?” Jane asked, the disappointment on her face fading. Elessa shook her head. “Then it’s about time you did. I was discontented with the Cantic Denomination, and decided to ask Canta Herself what I should do if I believed the Denomination to be incorrect. There is precedent for communicating with Canta, as Nazira’s writings explain. But the Denomination interprets that scripture to mean that Canta only speaks to her chosen servants; for anyone else to attempt such communication is blasphemy. I knew this, but felt it was the right thing to do.”

  The first time Cinzia had heard Jane tell her story, she had not been able to listen past the point where Jane described herself—a woman outside the priesthood—praying. It had been too disturbing.

  “What happened when you prayed?” Elessa asked, her face still eager. “Did you receive impressions, promptings, just as I did?”

  Jane took a deep breath. “Not exactly. What I experienced was more… it was something more tangible.” Jane glanced at Cinzia. “But before I experienced Canta’s communication, there was something else.”

  Something else? Jane had never told Cinzia of anything else that had happened during that first communication. Jane had prayed, and then Canta had appeared to her, had spoken directly to her.

  “I knelt there, on Mount Madise, and prayed. But before I received an answer, something… something attacked me.”

  Cinzia’s eyebrows shot up. This was definitely not anything she had heard before.

  “Goddess rising,” Elessa whispered. “What was it? Was it… was it Canta?”

  “No,” Jane said. “The force that attacked me was something else entirely. Do you know of the legend of the Nine Daemons, Elessa?”

  “I thought it was just a bed
time story, until I heard the Beldam talking about them.”

  “It is no bedtime story,” Jane said. “The Daemons are real. They have broken through into the Sfaera, after thousands of years of banishment.”

  “I… I don’t understand.”

  “I know,” Jane said. “All of this will take time, but that is one thing you must know immediately. We are not only being called and gathered to reform Canta’s religion. We are being called and gathered to save the world from the greatest threat we have ever faced.”

  Cinzia stared at her sister with narrowed eyes. Was that what this was about? Was Jane making up a portion of her story to motivate others into action? The threat of the Nine Daemons was real; both she and Jane knew that well enough. But Cinzia was not sure they needed to lie to emphasize that threat.

  “How do you know? How do you know it was the Nine Daemons?” Elessa asked.

  “It was not all of them,” Jane whispered. “Just one. Just the most powerful. You know him as the Fear Lord, but his name is Azael.”

  Cinzia squirmed at the name. She remembered Kovac’s eyes, smoking in the dim light. It was strange; the sun was still up, in fact she could see the brightness through one of the library windows. The mere mention of the Fear Lord’s name did not make this space any darker. But somehow Cinzia thought that it should, that the lamps should grow dimmer, that an eclipse should cover the sun at such a sound.

  “How did you escape?” Elessa asked.

  “His power stems from many things, but as his title suggests, he is first and foremost concerned with the fear of other beings. His attack was exactly that: Azael showed me the great horrors of my heart, those things I most fear more than any other. He showed them to me as if they were happening, as if I were living through them over and over again.”

  Jane was shaking. Cinzia stood and retrieved a blanket from one of the unoccupied chairs, then draped it around Jane’s shoulders. A part of Cinzia was appalled that her sister would go to such lengths to tell a lie, when a truth would do just as well. What had happened in Izet was just as horrible as what Jane described now, or at least it had seemed so to Cinzia. And yet there was another part of her that wondered. Had Jane truly experienced this? If so, why had she not spoken of it before?