Kodoris went cold. Lucinda walked to the table and carefully lifted the ceramic vessel. She opened the lid and dipped a finger. She held it out and daubed the blood on the long bony bridge of the Magister’s nose.
“Murderess!” he spat.
She waggled her finger at him. “Hypocrisy is a great sin, Magister. Do not forget that I have read your own thoughts these past days. You might have done the deed yourself.”
Kodoris felt weak, as if his strength and manhood had all but dried up, withered away. “What is it you mean to do?”
“Why, I told you. We are going to see Brother Acquel. I believe he is at this moment down in the bowels of the Temple, finding what he has long sought. What you have already seen. The Ten Commandments of Elded and all the other truths of your One Faith that your priesthood has laboured so long to hide.” She beckoned to Flauros who stepped forward and roughly seized Kodoris high up on his arm with his left hand. The point of his sword pricked the cords of the Magister’s neck. “It is time for me to fulfil my promise to you,” she said. “And to fulfil another. One I made to Berithas.”
Kodoris snorted. “The Deceiver. Trickster.”
Lucinda puffed out her chest. She struck Kodoris across his cheek. “Berithas the Redeemer.”
Thirty-Six
LIKE DRIFTING SHADOWS, Acquel and Timandra, dressed in the black robes of the priesthood, moved to the bottom of the stairs and held close to the ancient sandstone blocks of the undercroft. A few torches sputtered in their iron sconces but most of the vaults were in darkness. From high up on the stairs, the sound of many voices raised in song floated down to their ears.
May their souls fly upon the wings of doves;
Upwards, ever higher, unto the comfort of His bosom;
Glory to the Faith, glory to the Saints
In Heaven’s seat the Lord reposes, wisdom and power, everlasting.
Acquel gathered up Timandra in his arms. He could feel her shaking. “Do you hear them above us? They are singing the evening lament. All the brotherhood gathered.”
She nodded. “Except for you.”
He managed a smile. He gently clasped her face and kissed her on both cheeks tenderly. “We will leave here together and spread the word to all who will listen. The truth of Elded. Your shame and mine will be washed clean.”
She covered his hand with hers. “Companions together for as long as fate allows.”
He reached up and grasped a torch before leading her deeper into the vaults. “There, that tunnel on the right. That is it.” He turned back to face her. “Wait here for me. I will bring out whatever I find. If I can.”
Timandra’s fingers tightened nervously around the hilt of the dagger she wore on her belt. “I will wait for as long as it takes. If someone approaches then I will follow you down to warn you.”
They reached the tunnel entrance and Acquel turned to her. “Stay here, in the shadows.”
She gave his hand one last squeeze. “May the Blessed Saint guide and protect you!”
“And you, my dear Timandra. And you.”
He pulled his robes close and set off into the narrow passage and she watched him grow smaller, a tiny circle of light about him. A damp chill blew along the tunnel and she crouched down, pulling the hood of her robe around her face.
Acquel felt the temperature plunge as he descended. The amulet against his bare skin grew warmer and began to tingle. He held the torch out as he stepped along the uneven floor, hacked out centuries ago. There were no turns or other open passages, only a few bricked off. The tunnel walls ran as straight and true as a mason’s plumb could ever make. At length, he saw an ancient, heavily studded door before him. He turned the large cast iron knob at its centre and gently pushed. It was unlocked. As he stepped through he found himself at the very end of the tunnel, a wall of jagged rock in front of him. And on each side, great oak doors, one vastly ornate with curling bronze fittings, the other plain and undecorated, its hinges and lock blooming with orange rust. A strong sense directed him towards the plainer of the doors, an intuition that, as he stood facing it, was rewarded by the throb of the amulet. It pulsed as if alive; a warm thing clinging to his chest. As his hand reached for the great iron ring, he leapt back at the grinding metallic sound of clicking tumblers in the lock. Elded was beckoning. He pulled the door open only to find an even stouter one behind it. But a mere touch of his palm upon its planks and it too creaked open, swinging inwards with barely a push.
Acquel stepped into the chamber he had seen in his dreams. The rows of little metal caskets in niches hewn out of the bedrock were just as he had seen in his mind. He held aloft the torch to illuminate the chamber. It was no more than twenty paces square. He spotted a torch rammed into a sconce and touched his own to it. The fat-impregnated rags ignited, telling him that someone had been here not long previously. He set his own in another sconce and faced the row of caskets, without rust despite their age. His eyes flitted from one little box to another. Where to begin?
Another impulse seized him. He threw back his hood and reached into his unbuttoned doublet, down into his shirt. He pulled off the amulet and let it dangle before him on its chain. The gold and lapis sparkled, seemingly brighter than he had ever seen it. As he watched it, it moved; moved like a lodestone attracted to iron, suspended nearly sideways and pointing to the caskets on the left. Acquel took a few steps towards them and the amulet wavered again, jutting out, and pointing to just one casket.
He found himself shaking as he dropped the amulet back over his head. The casket rasped along the stone shelf as he pulled it towards him. He undid the hasp and opened it. The folded vellum inside practically cried out to him. He reached in and withdrew it. The ancient Valdurian script that stared back at him suddenly seemed to mutate as he held it. Where a second ago he could barely decipher it, now it was as clear as any text he might have penned himself. It was the Ten Commandments of Saint Elded, the same as was on his amulet. He was reading—comprehending—the old language of Valdur. He laughed aloud as the wonder of the discovery filled him. He opened other caskets, unrolling the scrolls within, devouring the words they contained, the words of Elded and his disciples. The story of the first days of the Faith unfolded before him. He saw the pagan trees fall, the armies of men and mer battling satyrs and dragons, driving the worshippers of the old gods into the wilds, the stones of the first temples being set into the ground where once innocent blood was sacrificed to dread Belial on corrupted trees bent to dark worship. He grew lightheaded and fell back against a wall, his breaths coming fast. The knowledge of 800 years poured into him, filling his head like a brimming wine jar, and prayers he had never uttered before poured from his lips.
TIMANDRA JUMPED WHEN she heard the voices and saw the torchlight spilling down the wide stone steps. She crouched even lower as she watched three figures turn the corner and enter the undercroft. One was a woman, her full skirts seeming to float across the stone floor as she walked under the arches of the vaulted ceiling. Then two men, one wearing the robes of a priest or monk. The other, taller, wore a long cloak and she could see his blackened breastplate and the glint of a drawn sword. They were walking with purpose, luckily not towards her and the tunnel but rather across the length of the undercroft. The woman lit other tallow torches with hers as they walked and soon the red bricks of the undercroft were illuminated with their orange glow. She bit her lip. If she went down the tunnel to warn Acquel, they would both be trapped. The visitors might not even be looking for them. She saw that the three had gone to the far side of the undercroft to where a shallow nave of stone had been set. The woman was speaking; the monk protesting, raising his voice. She watched as the soldier backhanded him and hauled him up by the hood of his robes.
Timandra slowly raised herself up and moved to a massive pillar some distance closer to the figures. She poked her head around it and strained to hear what they saying.
“SACRILEGE! MONSTROUS SACRILEGE!” yelled Kodoris, held fast in the grip of Captain F
lauros. As he cried out for help, Flauros pommeled him on his collarbone, dropping the Magister to his knees.
Lucinda paid him no heed. She looked at the blackened stump that was before them. “The first Tree of Life, the Ur-spring of the True Faith that nourished the people even as it was nourished by them. Hacked and burned by the usurpers, Magister!”
Kodoris looked up at her. “Defeated by the power of God and his chosen servant, Elded the Blessed!”
She bent over Kodoris, one hand on her knee, the other raising up the vessel of Brachus’s blood. “This night the war resumes, Magister. And the roots of this tree grow deep. Deep down and across the breadth of the kingdom. Where they slumber still. Until now.”
She smiled knowingly and stood up, raising the vessel over her head in both hands. “Berithas,” she intoned, “I give you the blood of the great usurper.” She opened the silver lid and held out her arm, pouring the blood over the stump. It ran and collected into little pools in the gouged ancient wood. It sank in, all of it, as if the dead tree had lapped it up greedily. Lucinda tossed the lidded ceramic pot and it shattered on the stone wall.
TIMANDRA BECAME AWARE of a vibration at her feet. The entire floor of the vaults seemed to hum. She heard cracking noises and saw the large flagstones buckle as they heaved, undulating. As quickly as it had started, all became silent. But she knew something terrible had happened just the same. Something profoundly evil.
She saw the monk roughly roused to his feet and the woman pick up her torch again. They moved towards her and she ducked back, creeping around the pillar as they passed. And to her horror, they made straight for the tunnel leading to Acquel.
ACQUEL CLUTCHED AT his chest. The amulet had suddenly become red hot and he cried out with the pain and shock of it. That was when he heard the footfalls. He turned towards the doorway and backed himself to a far wall. A whirl of burgundy came tumbling into the chamber. A man rolled across the rough limestone floor and somehow managed to pull himself up to his hands and knees, his face contorted in pain. As he raised his head, Acquel saw who it was. Kodoris threw back his open robe and Acquel’s right hand flew to the hilt of his side sword.
A woman’s voice sounded, clear and melodious. “Brother Acquel, I greet you well.”
She glided into the stone chamber, Flauros immediately behind. Acquel drew his sword, awkwardly catching it on his robes. Flauros chuckled but Lucinda raised her hand to silence him. Acquel at once recognised the two as the ones who had tried to kill him at the harbour side in Perusia. Flauros he remembered, captain of the Temple guard, but the noblewoman was a mystery. And why in God’s name had they just thrown the Magister into the chamber head first? Had they found and hurt Timandra out in the undercroft?
He looked at the woman. She seemed unnaturally beautiful, her alabaster face almost glowing in the torchlight. But something else, far more than the tingling amulet, set his heart pumping faster. Her countenance shone with a malevolence that made him shiver, her penetrating eyes reminding him of a lizard on a fence post about to snatch a fly.
“I trust you have found what you were looking for, Brother Acquel?” She moved across the chamber, staring him down as she did so. He felt a dull ache in his head. The amulet flared again, briefly, and he felt the pain in his brain evaporate. She reached Kodoris who still crouched on the floor, dazed, and tousled his grey curls.
Acquel raised his sword but could not keep the blade from shaking slightly. “What do you want of me? Why have you pursued me? It was not I who killed the brethren in the tomb.” He pointed his sword at Kodoris. “There is your man!”
Flauros had moved slowly along the wall, trying to flank him. Acquel turned slightly and opened his guard towards him. Flauros’s taut face remain unchanged but he stopped where he stood.
“We know you did not murder them,” Lucinda replied, her voice as unctuous as flowing oil. “And you should thank me for allowing you to find this place. For revealing what was hidden from view.”
“She is a witch,” said Kodoris weakly as he pulled himself towards the far wall. “She follows the Old Ones, the gods that were thrown down. Do not listen to her, Brother Acquel!”
Acquel waggled his sword. His voice shook. “Listen to her! Why should I listen to you? You killed Kell! Silvio! All of them!”
Kodoris pulled himself up, his hands gripping the lip of the stone niche above him. “I was wrong. I know that. I sacrificed the brethren to protect the Faith. But it was wrong. I was blind to the truth. To them!”
Flauros hefted his sword and moved towards the middle of the chamber. “Shut it, old man! I know it was you who murdered my soldiers. I cannot wait to sink my blade into your guts!”
Kodoris put his head into his hands and groaned. Lucinda reached out and laid a hand on Flauros. “And you shall, my brave one. When we are done. I have fed the Tree of Life and now I must plant a new seed, as Berithas directs.”
She moved to the stone alcove and opened a casket. “Brother Acquel, take what you need to feed your fire of faith.”
“Berithas?” The word left Acquel’s lips as his head shook in confusion.
“The Trickster!” shouted Kodoris. He lunged for Lucinda. Flauros swept her back with his free arm, sending her spinning, and brought his sword up high, poised to cleave the Magister with a downward blow. Before he realised what he had done, Acquel found himself flying forward, his blade parrying Flauros’s downward swing. Flauros snarled and let Acquel’s momentum continue, the greyrobe’s sword following through and down. He then turned his wrist upwards, gathering Acquel’s blade with his own. With a grunt of exertion and a flex, he sent Acquel’s blade flying and clattering off a wall. A second later he back-handed Acquel across the cheek with his hilt and the greyrobe staggered, his hand moving to his head as his knees began to buckle.
Flauros cursed and turned full-on towards Acquel, raising his sword to cleave him through. Acquel raised his head and lifted his right arm—a reflexive but futile gesture. Suddenly, Flauros fell forward, a black-robed figure flailing upon his back like some huge flapping crow. It was Timandra, Acquel saw, dagger in her fist, as she struck at Flauros’s neck. He howled as the blade went in at the base of his collarbone. His forward movement and her momentum sent Timandra tumbling over his head and onto the floor. Acquel, head down, bulled into the guardsman, but a balled fist sent him sprawling. He turned to see Flauros drive his sword into Timandra as she lay on her back.
Acquel’s cry of desperation and rage, like some wounded beast, filled the chamber. But it did not stop Flauros from raising his sword again and advancing unsteadily on Acquel a second time.
“That’s enough of you!” he hissed breathlessly as both arms raised to deliver the blow.
“Bastard!” Acquel screamed with all the energy he could summon. And then he saw Flauros’s head suddenly split open, a spout of gore spattering him like raindrops. Flauros dropped to his knees and then forward, Acquel’s side sword lodged halfway through his skull. Behind stood Kodoris, blinking rapidly and swaying on his feet. Near the door stood Lucinda, her mouth agape and a bleeding graze on her forehead. She recovered herself, blue eyes bulging in rage, and she raised a long trembling finger at Kodoris. Kodoris stiffened and turned towards her.
“No!” yelled Acquel, pushing himself to his feet, his head still swimming. The canoness whirled to face him, her eyes seeking out his. A stabbing pain in his head staggered him but as soon as the bright nail entered his skull, he felt the amulet burst into fire once again. The pain winked out and he saw Lucinda’s concentration waver and collapse. She stepped back, a curious look of surprise that quickly changed to recognition—as if she had seen someone, or something, new. Acquel saw her move her gaze down to the shattered remains of Captain Flauros, a look of disappointment, even disapproval, showing on her face. An instant later she turned about and dashed from the chamber.
Acquel tottered, barely upright. Half crawling, he made it to where Timandra lay. He gathered her up into his arms, the smell o
f blood strong in his nostrils. Her head fell back and he supported the back of her neck as he cradled her. A feeling of sickness overwhelmed him as he looked on her. He held her close and rocked her, muttering helplessly, imploring Elded to save her. Timandra’s eyelids fluttered, though her body remained limp. Acquel looked down at the wound in her stomach. It had been a deep thrust and was steadily oozing blood, a rhythmic pulsing. He knew it was mortal. He stroked her head and called her name. Again her eyes fluttered, opened, and she saw him. She tried to move her lips and he felt her hand tighten on his arm.
“Forgive me,” she breathed. “You were… my confessor.” Her ashen face contorted in pain. “But I came to love you. Could not help it.”
Acquel’s tears dropped on her neck and lips. “Your sins are forgiven, dear Timandra. Forgiven by God. Hush.” And he cried as he felt the life flow out of her, the first woman he had lost his heart to. He held her tightly for some time, heedless of the Magister who leaned against the stones near him, breathing heavily, exhausted.
“Brother Acquel.”
He looked up at the old man.
“I am sorry,” said Kodoris. “Sorry for all I have caused.”
Acquel gently lowered Timandra to the floor. His arms were shaking. He sucked in a deep breath and stood, his face numb where he had been punched. Seizing Kodoris by his robes, Acquel shoved him hard against the rough-hewn rock of the chamber wall.
“I did what I thought necessary to protect the Faith! Brother Kell understood!” Kodoris sputtered.
Acquel lifted and slammed him against the rock wall again. “You murdered to protect a lie! To hide the truth of the holy word! By Blessed Elded you will work with me to repair what has been done! I swear it!”
The Guns of Ivrea Page 36
