by CJ Perry
Celia’s cherubic face, contorted with the pain of her father’s death, told Justin her story. Her pain had softened the heart of a god and saved her father. Then that pain simmered for eighteen years before the High Priest turned up the heat until it boiled over onto Hornstall.
Dylan’s body lay on the ground, hacked to pieces. The chapel stood open, welcoming - not locked as it was these days. Dylan’s spirit was looking at Celia when Justin turned back to him.
Like Justin, Celia had borne the burden of her father’s sins against his god all her life. But unlike Justin, she had forgiven him and her High Priest had manipulated her into doing so. When she heard the truth, Celia had two choices; she could reject the Temple and her family and lose both forever, or forgive and embrace them. The concept was vaguely familiar.
He stared Dylan hard in the eyes. “Tell me how to destroy the sword.”
Dylan flinched. “No. Without the sword, there is no hope of freeing her.”
“I am certain my mother would accept your soul in her stead. Then I would be free to take Celia south to stand trial in Aflua. She may still be executed, but at least there she will be spared the Abyss.”
“But I would not be.”
“So? Your daughter is prepared to do it for you. You wouldn’t do the same?”
“What do you mean?”
“When I told Celia that if my mother sacrifices her - and she will - her soul will belong to the Dark Queen. Celia didn’t bat an eyelash. But, when I told her I would destroy the sword, she showed genuine fear. She cares more for your soul than her own.” Justin shrugged. “I guess she gets her courage from her mother’s side.”
“You don't understand,” Dylan said, returning Justin’s hard glare. “To destroy the sword would draw you into the fold of Darkness, and Celia’s fate would be sealed.”
“I would destroy the sword in the name of Justice and balance, not Darkness.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because to destroy the sword you must revisit upon the blade the very sin that condemned my soul to the Abyss in the first place.”
Justin jerked his hand away from the desk. The world spun once again and he blinked a few times to get his bearings. He had the answer. His brow broke into a cold sweat.
Justin’s mother had baited Dylan into the crypt below the temple - what Hornstall now called the chapel. There, the Night Goddess had afflicted him with a contagion, and as he lay dying, Justin’s mother had offered him mercy. He needed only bow and beg the Night Goddess for forgiveness - to convert. To destroy the sword, Justin had to kneel in the temple with the sword in hand and offer his soul to the Dark Queen. He too, had to convert. If he did that, the forgiveness granted his soul by Celia and the God of Light would be undone, casting his soul out of the blade.
Chapter Ten
Pawns, Queens, and Kings
Justin paced in his room most of the night. He had but one other option, to convince Celia to testify against her High Priest. If he told her everything, about her father, the High Priest, and the means by which to destroy the sword, she would have to see the truth of it.
Mind made up, he left his room and put his key in the lock. He had no Wizard-locks memorized. He paused as he turned the key. Again, he left with nothing memorized. He finished turning the key and the lock clicked. He would not get any studying done with everything he had on his mind.
He ran down the hall and the stairs of the west tower to the main floor. The Red Knights opened the door for him and he retrieved the torch from the wall. Back down into damp silence of the dungeon he went, torch aloft in the darkness.
Celia sat in the same position as last time - arms aloft, head hanging forward. She looked up and rolled her eyes at him. He strode across the barren floor and placed the torch in the stand. Celia used the chains to stand and looked at him defiantly. Her eye had gotten worse and her lips had cracked from dehydration. He should have brought water.
“I spoke to your father,” he said.
Celia cocked her head to look at him with her good eye, squinting in the light of the torch. Her voice was a cracked whisper. “What?”
“His soul is in the sword. That’s why you were so scared of me destroying it. When I finished my Identify, he invaded the spell’s vision to speak to me. I saw everything: you and the High Priest in front of the alabaster altar, your mother retrieving the sword from your father’s body. Everything,” Justin said.
“Get out,” she croaked, and put her back to the wall. She sank back down to the ground. Justin walked over to her and knelt down.
“We don’t have time for this. You need to listen.”
“GET OUT!” Celia screamed in his face.
Justin fell back on his rear.
“GET OUT! GET OUT!” she screamed repeatedly.
Justin shushed her, finger crossing his lips, his heart racing. He thought to cover her mouth but stopped himself. He reached for her face to soothe her but she bit at his fingers. She kept screaming the same thing, over and over. If she did not stop, someone would come, a guard, his mother, he was not sure, but someone would. He grabbed her by the face, one hand on each cheek, and held her head up, her lips finally quiet.
“Stop,” he whispered. Celia struggled but he gripped her tighter. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please, just stop. I'm trying to help you.”
“Get your hands off me,” she said and Justin reluctantly dropped his hands. At least she had stopped screaming. But she just reduced their time together to minutes instead of hours. This was not how he saw this playing out.
“Listen to me. We don't have a lot of time,” he said, and reached to push a lock of hair away from her swollen eye. The skin had split and the wound had dirt in it.
“Do not touch me,” she said in her heavy southern accent.
Justin pulled his hands away and held them up, palms open. “Fine. But you want to tell me what in the Hells the screaming was all about?”
She sneered at him, eyes full of hate and venom. “You destroyed the sword. I do not care for anything you might-”
Justin sighed and shook his head. “No. You misunderstood me. I did nothing of the sort. All I did was talk to it - to him.”
Celia eyed him again and then sighed. “How is anyone supposed to understand anything you say when you talk that fast with your filthy northern drawl?”
“Drawl?”
“Yes,” Celia said, lifting herself up by her chains. The light reflected off her armor, illuminating the dungeon, and the rats scattered. Once she was standing she craned her neck out and crossed her one good eye.
“Pardon me, but y’all wanna git ya child offa my dawg?”
Justin shielded his eyes from the light and got to his feet, casting his shadow over her once more. He cracked a grin.
“I don’t sound like that.”
“Yes. You do.”
“Alright. I’ll try and slow it down. But you need to listen. I spoke to your father.”
“How is that possible?”
“He interrupted a vision from an Identify. The exact means, I'm not entirely clear on.”
“So, you have no idea,” Celia observed.
Justin shook his head. “None whatsoever.”
“What did he say?”
“I’ll explain everything when we have more time. Right now, just know that he wants me to rescue you.”
The hope that had lit up her cheeks when Justin first came down to the dungeon returned. Her expression softened. It was almost a smile.
“Will you?” she asked.
Justin nodded. “But there is no fighting our way out of this. You have to-”
Celia held out her hands, palms up, chains jingling. “Give me the sword and we’ll see about that.”
“I can’t do that. You killed eight knights, the funerals for whom are taking place as we speak. If I'm going to get you out of here, it’s to stand trial in Aflua. We need to do this the right way.”
Celia
dropped her back to the wall again and lifted her head, resting it on the stone behind her. She lifted her hands but the chains stopped her. She balled her fists and curled her arms, trying to pull the chains moorings out of the wall. Out of breath, she sagged against the wall once more.
“Just pick a side, Justin. For Light’s sake.”
Justin took a step closer. “I have. I’ve chosen the side of justice. There is no justice in your soul going to the Abyss, nor is there any in setting you free. You have to stand trial but there is no way you will get a fair one here.”
Celia scoffed and shook her head at the ceiling. “Do you think your mother believes the war ever really ended?”
“I can’t be sure.”
“Well, my High Priest doesn’t,” she said and met Justin’s gaze. “So, if the war is not over then what I have done is not murder. It was an attack on a city. I did not skulk in an alley and slit men’s throats. I faced them in honorable combat and they fell. People die in war, Justin. No one drags the soldiers in front of a judge when it’s over.”
“Whether or not the war has ended is not only up to my mother and your High Priest. Your king should have a say in that, shouldn’t he? Your High Priest made you a pawn to force your King’s hand.”
Celia gave him a hard look from under her brow, red curls hanging in her face. “The High Priest would not lie to me.”
“I can’t swear he did it on purpose, but even great men can make mistakes. Either way, your king has no idea this even happened. If I can get you home to tell your king what the High Priest has done, I’m sure he will make concessions to my mother. The Empire needs trade. I can make the Empress see that. She will listen to me and then, maybe, this war will really be over. We just have to convince her that you were a pawn.”
Celia balled her fists took a step forward. The chains jingled and pulled taut. “Call me a pawn again.”
“How can you not-”
“I was chosen! The High Priest was given a prophetic vision of war from our Lord.”
“That is not the argument that is going to get you out of here.”
“It is the truth. None can utter a lie in the Inner Sanctum of our Lord’s temple.”
“A Truth Circle?” Justin asked, and grinned. His mother had questioned him in the Dark Sanctum’s Truth Circle many times in his young life. Whenever he had gotten himself into trouble, she brought him to the altar to confess. Justin learned to work around it with half-truths and strict adherence to literal interpretations of the questions. Sometimes it worked, and other times it did not, but a High Priest would no doubt have far more practice.
“Yes. A Truth Circle.” Celia sneered. She dared him with her eyes to besmirch her God’s power or her High Priest’s integrity. Despite her chains, her intensity made Justin take a step back.
“Truth …” Justin said, dipping his head to the side, “is malleable. Maybe he couldn’t lie to you, but the first rule of Illusion is that truth can be qualified, misrepresented, omitted, or distorted, either intentionally or because it is viewed through the lens of personal belief. Like my illusion of the dragon in the Great Hall. Your beliefs tell you that if you see something, it must be real.”
Celia’s jaw tightened but Justin paid her anger no mind. Rule number two of illusions was ‘No one likes to be fooled.’ Throwing it in her face only made it worse, but illustrating his point trumped sensitivity to her pride at this point.
Justin’s training in the arcane focused on Illusion in all its forms, both - metaphorical and real. Illusion was more than magic and spells, it meant understanding the how and why of what people believed. In that, he took after his mother. Justin had a keen interest in faith. Illusions existed everywhere. His mother and the people of her Empire shared one: freedom.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed.
Celia gave him a dubious look and Justin sighed.
“What else are you doing right now?”
“I’m not bored, you ass. I am in your mother’s dungeon, waiting to die. You aren’t going to convince me or her of anything. If I can see what you are, then she definitely does.”
“And what am I?”
“A condescending know-it-all, with faith in nothing, who cares about nothing so much as being impressive. Only a wizard could be so self-important. You want to talk about illusions? Let us begin with your real ones.”
Justin folded his arms. “Clearly, you have an opinion on my real illusions. Do share.”
“Your Empire is ruled by the Dark Temples, not royalty or guilds. You are not of the dark faith, therefore, you are not a Prince. You’re a deluded nobody. A pampered brat.”
Justin’s chest tightened and his teeth clenched. She was trying to make him doubt himself, and it was working. Without surrendering his soul to the Dark Queen, Justin could never take the throne. Though, apparently, Celia found him impressive. She stared him straight in the eyes, waiting for a reaction.
“What I am did not come easy. I am far from pampered.”
“Really? How did you get an apprenticeship with the Red Wizards of Drokin? They don’t accept humans. We are poor investments, too short-lived. How much did your mother pay them?”
Justin had, in fact, never asked. She was right though, Master Rashidi told him in plain Common Tongue that Gnomes believed humans were ill-suited to do much more than die for a god. And Rashidi did not prove to be an exception. Justin spent four years taking racial insults from a three-foot Archmage with a nose like a fist-sized squash.
“You know how I ended up in Drokin?”
“Your mother bought you a new pony?”
“I stopped eating meat, so my mother threw me out.”
“What? That is the dumbest-”
“Today is the Day of Freedom, which, I have to say…” Justin gave her a thumbs-up. “Superb timing. Anyhow, starting at sundown, the menu in Freedom Hall, and in temples across the Empire, will consist of moonshine-soaked rat, and a vile salted meat. That’s what the faithful and the poor will eat for the next month.”
Celia sneered at him. “You are a man of neither faith nor poverty. I am quite sure you-”
“My earliest and most vivid memory is my mother’s hand over my nose and mouth.” Justin demonstrated. “Suffocating me, when I was three. To get me to eat a damned booze rat.”
Celia’s mouth snapped shut and the sneer dissolved.
“Our people ate rats and the corpses of the minotaurs to survive during and after the war. It became a tradition afterward, and as…” he avoided the word ‘Prince’. “... the Empress’ son, I was expected to honor it. I cried at the head table of Freedom Hall at the end of mother’s prayer, when it was time to eat. I refused to taste the rat on my plate. So, my mother forced me and then held her hand over my face to make me swallow it.”
Justin’s mouth watered from the memory. He took a breath and swallowed the imagined taste of sewer smothered in moonshine. Celia’s gaze dropped to the floor. Justin took a step closer to her, his shadow narrowing on the wall.
“Eventually, they talked me into eating the dried meat. It was terrible; tough, with so much salt that it burned my mouth. I didn’t know what it was, but it was better than rat. I didn’t find out until I was ten that I was eating human flesh.”
“God of Light,” Celia whispered.
“After that, I refused to eat any of it. My mother and Deetra said that starvation would change my tune. The kitchen was forbidden to me but every day that month, a plate of rat and human flesh would be delivered to my room.”
“Did you eat it?”
“No. I was restricted to my room or the Children’s Garden. I survived by eating boiled dandelion leaves, the Children’s Garden was full of them. For three years in a row, I made it through the Month of Famine that way. My mother knew I was eating but could never figure out how or what, because I still wasted away every summer.
“When I was thirteen, on the last day of the Month of Famine, I just couldn’t wait another day to eat. I was lock
ed in my room for the final week, so I boiled the last batch of leaves in my hearth. My stepbrother told my stepmother, who came and dragged me to the altar to confess. I refused. I was on a wagon headed for Drokin the next day.”
“Your stepmother? I thought the Empress -”
“The Empress is my mother. Her wife - the General you skewered on the table - is my stepmother.”
“I am sorry,” Celia said, shaking her head. She leaned back against the wall with a sigh. “I cannot imagine growing up in a family such as yours.”
“What you see as self-important is just me trying to stand up for myself and be who I am, but still be a part of my family. A family who has very different beliefs and no respect for mine.”
“It cannot be easy to wear atheist robes in the Dark Empire. Even in the south, they are frowned upon.”
“My mother has no idea what my robes mean, though she does know my feelings on religion. Or at least, I think she does. She should. But she is adept at keeping thoughts that bother her from her mind. Just like you.”
Celia cocked her head, eyeing him. “How do you mean?”
“You won’t entertain the idea that the High Priest might have lied to you. Even though you know that, logically, it is possible.”
“I am not a creature of logic.”
“Yes, you are. You’re a knight. Knights uphold a given set of morals and laws. If you made a lawful vow, then by law, you must fulfill it. But if the lawful, or logical premise of the vow is false, so too becomes your obligation to fulfill it.”
“What?”
“What I’m saying is; it does not violate your honor, or your faith, to know that a vow made based on a lie, isn’t a vow at all. Just do as I ask, and close your eyes. Let me show you the truth.” Justin stepped closer until they stood only inches apart. “Please?”
Celia shrugged and closed her eyes. After a long moment passed, he whispered. “Think about the illusion of the dragon skeleton yesterday.”
Celia tensed again and Justin put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but Justin held firm and kept his voice low.
