by James Stone
‘Well,’ she continued, ‘that’s where we were taken. I had thought my voyage there was the greatest hell the gods could have punished me with. Oh, I’ll be damned, once the storms hit, the bodies of my sisters stacked up on the decks—the maidens once so beautiful and fair had become mockeries—’
‘I’m sorry to hear that—’ Magmaya crooned, but Deih cut her off.
‘Our supplies ran low in time. I’ve never felt hunger like it—there is no thought, Magmaya, except the lust for food.’ She stopped for a moment and laughed solemnly to herself. ‘The only ones who didn’t starve were the rats. They grew fat, big as hounds, until we heard them eating—festering, while we huddled at night. By the time we reached the shore, there were only two dozen of us left.
‘But Cecalia you say?’ The High Priestess gripped the bannister. ‘That was hell, Magmaya. Once the slavers tore us from the ships, we had to make the trek to the Grandmasters’ mansion through a short icy valley—and then through Cecalia.’ She pressed her finger into Magmaya’s cheek. ‘Your skin is fitting for the summers there,’ she remarked. ‘But this was a terrible winter, and the only warmth we found was the shell of an old oak, but that rotted after a day. The next night, we huddled in the corpse of a bear. But sure enough, the fur was pillaged. And then,’ she said, ‘the corpses of our sisters allowed us the only warmth at night.’ She paused. ‘I would have given everything to have gone to the Cecalia you knew, girl.’
It’s a sad story, Magmaya might have once said, but if anything, it made her fear the Priestess even more, not feel sorry for her.
‘I made a mistake,’ she admitted. ‘I should have never lied. I was arrogant, I was—they said you were a succubus—they said you ate human flesh!’
Deih laughed. ‘That’s only half true, girl. We’d been made bloodied by the end of it all; our bodies were no longer any use for the pleasures of men.’
Magmaya stammered. Perhaps she’s lying, she considered, but something in Deih’s conviction told her that her words were gospel. It was clear that attempting to mislead her had been a mistake. Perhaps Akanah didn’t know the world as well as he’d thought.
‘Where are you from, Magmaya?’ Deih asked. ‘If that’s truly your name.’
She frowned. ‘I’m from the north,’ she stammered. ‘And I apologise.’ The words felt hollow as she steered her gaze away.
Deih shook her head. ‘This is none of your own fault, I imagine. I understand Legatus Akanah or perhaps even the Lord Commander himself planted you with me in an attempt to speak of terms, no?’
Magmaya nodded.
The High Priestess sighed. ‘They assumed too much of Kurulian,’ she proclaimed. ‘I didn’t speak to him because he was an outsider, I spoke to him because not everything he said was a bloody lie; not every word out of his mouth was advocacy or shit disguised as courtship.’ She frowned, and Deih looked vulnerable for a moment. ‘Why on the First’s ashen soil did they ever think having you lie to me would help with some alliance?’
‘As long as you thought I was from somewhere far enough away and not part of the Divinicus, you’d negotiate with me,’ she trailed off. She had said too much.
‘Cecalia may not be under the liege of the Divinicus, but it isn’t that far away, girl.’
‘It couldn’t be too far,’ she admitted. ‘If the angels were caught using a northern girl without notice…’
‘It would be treason.’ Deih nodded.
‘Akanah… he… he,’ she stuttered, ‘he just wanted the best—he just wanted to convince you.’
‘He couldn’t have done a worse job at it.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t like being deceived. There shall be no negotiations of peace today.’
‘But—’
‘Look down to the prayer hall, Magmaya,’ Deih instructed. ‘Do you see my people? They have come from all over Belliousa in the wake of the angels, and hundreds more travel as we speak. But not in gross reverence, but in fear,’ she explained. ‘When the Divinicus came north, perhaps you looked to the heavens in wonder. But when they came to Belliousa, they struck at our wounds and cut our throats. We pray to our angels in fear of yours, can’t you see?’
‘Then there has been a grave misunderstanding!’ Magmaya felt a chill run through her bones. ‘I’ll return to my Legatus. I’ll inform him, like you said, there will be no negotiations. We’ll return to Inamorata.’
‘I fear they will not accept that so willingly.’ Deih frowned. ‘I suppose you have only been with them a short while?’
‘A few weeks,’ Magmaya admitted.
‘That’s why they thought you would be able to vouch for them,’ she scoffed and began whispering to herself, ‘I speak to Kurulian once, and they get some idea about me—’
‘We misunderstood…’
‘You may return to them, of course,’ Deih said at last, ‘but you may indeed want to hear more from me.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t think you’re a fool, girl,’ she said. ‘I can see you do not blindly trust these angels, which is good. But I think you still might need to see something—hear something.’ The High Priestess’ eyes became alive as she reached out to take Magmaya’s shoulders. ‘If you listen to me, you will learn not become a pawn of the angels. I will teach you how to run, girl.’
‘And what are you going to show me?’ Magmaya asked, quivering. In her, the same fear persisted that had when she’d seen Vargul Tul in the boardroom. But this time, it was even more primal. Something about it made her unwell.
‘The world.’ Deih shrugged. ‘I don’t allow false angels to distract me from the truth. And neither should you.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Then, by all means, go back to them,’ she said, and Magmaya sighed.
‘Why me?’
‘If I can save just one person from them, the First will be pleased.’ Deih smiled a motherly smile. ‘If I can have one moment more with you.’
‘They will suspect something if I am gone any longer,’ Magmaya stuttered. ‘I’m as scared of Akanah as you are.’
‘I’m not scared of him. Not anymore,’ she said. ‘And I can assure you, it will be as if no time has passed. Once you return, petty politics will be of no consequence. Once you return, you’ll know how to run.’
‘I must be going.’ Magmaya ignored her, eyes wide. She back turned to the corridor, but whichever way she looked, Deih was there as if a thousand mirrors of the High Priestess had been scattered about the halls. ‘I already know how to run!’ she cried. ‘I’ve done it a thousand times before.’
‘Please,’ the High Priestess mewled, motioning away from the exit. ‘Let me just show you the Temple. There’s no need for worry; the First have spoken to me, and they are wiser and older than all of us, child. They have the power over the sun and the moon, the light and the dark, the life that inhabits you and the death that will become of you; they are the cure, Magmaya.’
As the goddess looked to her, for what felt like the first time, a fire ran down her spine, and she began dreaming again—dreaming the temple dream.
Through the kaleidoscope of colours, she saw Ranvirus and her deceit which had beseeched her, and her selfishness and lies which had brought her to Belliousa. They poured like golden honey from her eyes and into Deih’s fingers as she felt the hairs on her scalp stand.
The cure—? That was what she had prayed for all along, no? To save her brother.
Magmaya shook her head and turned back to the hall; she could just about make out the silhouettes of glimmering Divinicus standing tall against the crimson of the Belliousans.
And then she looked to Deih, the comely priestess, as her memories left her in a cloud of heavy perfume. She was almost too beautiful to describe as she carried herself in those red, red robes with that whimsical frown as if her silver soul was looking down on her and—
Magmaya nodded.
Deih smiled and lowered her palm into the candlelight. Her leather glove was
a darker black than she had first thought—blacker than the starless nights at home, blacker than the bottom of the pond in the forest and blacker than the ponderous eyes of Kharon Vorr.
But, as if her palm was haunted by Cecalia itself, nothing in the world could have prepared her for how cold it felt.
Twenty-One
Anclyn could remember her first heavy rainfall in the Water; she remembered how the sky had turned black like a coiled monolith, and how the seas had been drowned of all their colour. She remembered how the leaves and the trees had swollen like spilt ink, and the mountainside had disappeared into the fog, swallowed up by the encroaching storm.
Then had come the first rumble of thunder—quiet yet cunning as if it were a predator giving its game away. After that was the first real clap: a sharkskin drum roaring from the heavens. Then it had seemed as if the earth itself had moved.
The rain had begun slowly, picking up par until it eventually drowned out the sounds of the maidens’ mumbling prayers. The storm continued on for almost a week, and when Anclyn finally emerged from her hiding, half the shoreline had capsized into the ocean. The Water’s boats had become spears of driftwood upon the shoreline, and the trees had been born again as broken barricades of sodden timber. Half the maidens lay dead in their huts, holding themselves like the day they were born. On the mountainside, the crop had been devastated, and even the highest points that hadn’t been flooded had been struck by stray bolts of lightning.
‘It is no matter,’ one of the elders had told her in a grey, croaky voice. ‘The storm will surely scare off any raids for a few days.’
The rain that lashed out against the First Temple was child’s play—a whimper of what she had known, what had crafted her. It was an insult to even call it rain but even more to hope it would give. Some of the more heathen members of the Small Court had even begun praying to the Maiden Gods that it would, but as if in defiance, the storm only grew worse.
She watched Akanah slump down on a desk in the small study they had given him, a thin veil of tapestry between her and him. He was the only one with a bed—the rest of them had made do, huddling around the great fireplace that turned the room orange.
‘Hells!’ she heard the Legatus curse, ‘I’d sooner drink the storm drainage.’
It’s not a storm, Anclyn wished she could’ve said. It’s a pitter patter.
Cheyne slithered over to his chambers and tapped the Legatus feebly on his shoulder. ‘Is there anything I can do, my lord?’
‘Gods, you know I don’t drink wine,’ Akanah replied, moved to a window and poured the flagon right out of it. ‘I need water, but none that was washed up with those fish at the shore.’
‘Shall I send for some, my lord?’ Cheyne asked.
‘No, no. The rain will suffice,’ he scoffed. ‘Where’s Magmaya’s handmaiden? She can do it. Keep her busy.’
Anclyn’s heart sunk, but Cheyne appeared to be on her side.
‘The handmaiden wouldn’t know where to go. She could get into all kinds of trouble, my lord.’
‘There was something in that Belliousan food.’ He ignored him. ‘I’m not full anymore.’
‘I can send for a platter of something too,’ Cheyne suggested.
‘Get the girl to find some dry food and water,’ he said, looking to her. ‘You know the way to the dining hall?’
She nodded.
‘On your way then.’
Anclyn couldn’t have been more nervous about having to navigate the First Temple on her own, but as she left the room, each member of the Small Court seemed to look to her with a longing to leave. Life under Fabius had been difficult and unpleasant at times, but Akanah had all the pride and wrath to match it. She supposed she was glad to get away, but the moment she stepped out of the chamber, she was confronted by an endless row of corridors that hung over her like a forest of tortured trees.
From someplace below, she could make out a conclave of prayers resounding through the halls—like a finger creeping up her spine. Their chants were unnatural and grating; obviously, the only similarities between Belliousa and the Summerlands were Deih and her food.
Nonetheless, she remembered the path back to the dining hall, and from there, she could find the scullery. If only she could remember what Legatus Akanah even wanted.
The Temple had become a maze of pillars—an impossible labyrinth of mirrors. There were no landmarks to guide her, no grandmasters to direct her forward. Nothing but shadows and eerie reflections across the stained-glass walls.
Occasionally, a flash of light would rush through the corridors and make her jump. And each time, a servant would reveal themselves shortly after, carrying a lamp or fiery candle. And each time, she would attempt to ask for directions, but they would just shrug and say something in a tongue she didn’t understand.
The people here were even stranger than any she’d known before; in the Summerlands, the tribes had their own rituals and fetishes of sorts. The Iaol used to surround themselves with apes and cover themselves in their faeces to ward off demons. The Karlas used to replace their left arms with skeletal bird wings and wore crowns made from deer skulls. Luckily, the Water had been mostly exempt from all of that, but on Belliousa, everyone dressed in something strange. At the dock, there had been a dozen skinny dogs, but in the First Temple, priests wore necklaces made of their teeth, while the pilgrims appeared awfully well fed. Was it all for their gods? Her god certainly hadn’t fashioned her that way, so why had theirs?
Down another corridor, she made out a rushing of water as the fountains burst to life around her. She was back at the atrium—she had come full circle! At least here, though, she was able to listen to the gentle tapping of the rain in peace and peer through the grand archways in wonder. I may end up back late, yes, and I may be beaten for it, she realised, but I can suffer that for a glimpse of freedom.
But then, there was a shadowy movement against one of the great windows, and Anclyn’s heart nearly leapt from her chest. For a moment, the sound of the rain and rushing water had gone. A figure turned to face her.
‘Stranger,’ a voice sounded, ‘don’t I know you…?’
She felt herself smile, but the fear hadn’t left her yet. ‘You scared me half to death…’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re…?’
‘Keriah.’ A figure appeared from the dark, and shortly after, another followed. ‘You’ve met Zoiln, no?’
‘Yes,’ Anclyn found herself stuttering. ‘You were talking with Mag—I—’
‘What are you doing here?’ Keriah asked her at last. ‘You’re Maggy’s handmaiden, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be with the others?’
‘What’s the name, girl?’ Zoiln croaked.
‘Anclyn,’ she said. ‘The Legatus sent me for water. I must admit, I got a little lost.’
‘Looks like you’ve travelled half the Temple—First have mercy,’ Keriah said with a laugh. ‘Let us at least take you to the kitchens.’
‘Us?’ Zoiln asked.
‘Us.’ Keriah nodded.
Anclyn didn’t recognise the way back, but Keriah insisted it was where she must have come from. It was as if the paths had shifted around her; the corridors and stairwells were turning like the Temple was one mass of clockwork.
‘How long have you been her handmaiden?’ Keriah asked at once.
‘Not long,’ she stuttered. ‘I was the Lord Commander’s until she came.’
‘Is she good to you?’ Zoiln asked. ‘Women—they’re not all pretty faces. Some have a real… callousness about them.’
‘Of course, she is,’ Anclyn trailed off. ‘Deih’s not callous, though, is she?’
‘If Deih was like that, we wouldn’t be serving under her,’ he replied.
‘If it isn’t rude of me to ask,’ Anclyn began, ‘why are you serving under her? If you had a choice, then you could be free, couldn’t you?’
‘She came to us in a dream,’ Keriah remarked lovingly. ‘A dream we both had—a
dream in which the First spoke to us. We weren’t even on Belliousa, but they showed us a temple and showed us Deih, and she showed us salvation. We came to her willingly. We were enchanted, I suppose.’ She giggled.
‘Do you have any gods of your own, Anclyn?’ Zoiln asked at once.
‘I pray,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t know who to. I suppose to my old gods—’
‘How can you still believe in them?’ he cut in. ‘You met a real goddess today.’
‘A goddess?’ Anclyn exclaimed. ‘I thought she was the High Priestess. She can’t be a goddess—goddesses aren’t—’
‘Aren’t what?’ Zoiln asked.
‘She’s the High Priestess, alright,’ Keriah said before Anclyn could hazard a reply. ‘But she works miracles, she stops wars—she heals the sick! Not only that, but Deih cannot die! The First have brought her back to us before. And if she is to die again, she will be reborn from smoke and rain as the Angelica.’
‘The Angelica?’
‘The fiery angel that will save the world, as legends would have it,’ Zoiln said. ‘Some think it’s only an allegory, but I know it in my heart to be true.’
‘Did you ever meet the Golden Woman?’ Keriah asked.
Anclyn shook her head. ‘Even if I had, I would’ve been too young to remember.’
‘You missed a lot then, dear girl,’ Keriah remarked. ‘She outshone the sun, and she was a false goddess. Think of what a real one can do.’ She smiled, and her voice chimed. ‘You may be unknowing of the ways of the First, but not for long. In time, they will reveal their true plans for you.’
What true plans? She wondered. I never had a plan other than to serve.
‘How many are there?’ Anclyn asked at last.
‘How many what?’ Zoiln replied.
‘How many gods make up the First?’
‘Could be a thousand. Could be two.’ Keriah shrugged. ‘All we know is there are precisely as many as there are. That’s what they told us in our dream.’
‘It doesn’t matter anyway, Anclyn. When the Angelica is reborn, the anti-heroes and false gods of the world will unmask themselves,’ Zoiln said gleefully. ‘The First will show us their faces, and we shall be liberated at last—whether there are a thousand or two of them.’
