Canta’s Fane, Triah
CINZIA APPROACHED CANTA’S FANE, her hair whipping in the wind. It had been almost two years since she stepped foot in the most holy place in the Denomination, but she felt she had been gone for decades.
An aching sense of loss had lingered in the back of her mind ever since receiving her papers of excommunication, and now that feeling only grew. This temple had once been the nexus of her faith, her religion, and her everyday life.
Now, it had nothing to do with her, or so the Denomination claimed.
Canta’s Fane rose high and wide, two tiers of great pillars, capped by a massive dome rising up above everything around the Center Circle, including the House of Aldermen and the Citadel. With the destruction of the imperial dome in Izet, Cinzia mused, the dome of Canta’s Fane was now likely the largest on the Sfaera. The Fane’s entrance faced directly east. In contrast, the House of Aldermen faced northwest, while the Citadel faced southwest, forming the three corners of the Trinacrya’s triangle.
Standing atop the Fane’s first tier of pillars and in between the pillars of the second were huge statues of each of the Nine Disciples, carved from bright white stone—almost twice the height of a woman. Each Disciple had been sculpted into a specific pose and carried an artifact: Lucia knelt, eyes cast upward in pious prayer, hands clasped around an ornate scepter, capped with the image of a blazing sun; Danica stood straight and tall, her hair and dress flowing behind her, holding a sword in one hand and a shield emblazoned with the Trinacrya in the other; Arcana looked down at the pages of a great tome, held open in her hands. The Disciple Cinzia’s artifact was a tiny egg-shaped stone, which was paneled with geometric shapes, like some kind of rare gem.
The statues—and the sheer size of the temple—were impressive, but from the exterior, Canta’s Fane was not particularly ornate, at least not compared to other cathedrals. The spires of Ocrestia’s cathedral in Cineste were certainly a sight to behold, and Valeria’s cathedral in Cornasa had taken the statue theme to the extreme, with hundreds of statues of the Nine Disciples, other important figures in the Denomination’s history, and one of Canta Herself at the apex that dwarfed all the others.
But Cinzia loved Canta’s Fane. Something felt right about the balance between simplicity and artistry. It felt an appropriate homage to the Goddess and all she had done for the Sfaera.
Two arched double doors, four times Cinzia’s own height, constituted the main entrance to the Fane, but as usual they were closed. They were incredibly difficult to operate, even with the system of chains and pulleys that had been integrated into them a couple hundred years ago, and the Denomination only opened the great doors two or three days per year, for holy days or particularly special occasions. One door displayed a silver circle, and the other a golden triangle.
On either side of the great doors were two smaller, simpler sets of doors. Even these were twice Cinzia’s height, and would have been impressive on any structure save for this, where they were dwarfed by the Fane’s central gate.
The doors on either side were always open, at any hour of the night or day. All Cantic chapels used to follow this rule, keeping their doors open at all hours, until thievery became too much of a problem. Most now locked their doors at night. Only those that could afford to commission Sons of Canta to guard them through the night kept them open. The Fane’s open doors were a formality, however; only members of the Denomination’s ministry were allowed in after hours, and a whole platoon of Sons kept watch.
But it was daylight now, and Cinzia entered unquestioned; she wore a large cloak with hood up to keep her face in shadow. Excommunicated, she was no longer allowed in Cantic places of worship.
All three of the entrances at the front of the building led into a wide corridor that ran perpendicular to the doors. Huge marble tiles, cream-colored and accented with red, gold, and silver, inscribed and engraved with aspects of Cantic lore and doctrine, covered the floor. Cinzia walked past the row of wide columns at the other side of the corridor, her footsteps echoing on the tiles, and into the main worship space of the Fane.
Hundreds of wooden pews lined the cavernous interior. Canta’s Fane was the largest Cantic cathedral in existence, and could accommodate over forty thousand people when occasion called for it. At the moment, it seemed that hundreds of worshippers occupied the pews—not uncommon for a midday recitation in the middle of the week—and many more benches could be brought in when the Fane expected larger audiences. Right now, there was a fair amount of open space. Beneath the center of the massive dome at the back of the Fane rose a large circular silver altar, and above that an ornate, great golden canopy on three twisting columns of bright, polished gold.
Only high priestesses ministered in Canta’s Fane, and one now stood at the altar beneath the canopy, reciting Cantic history as a large choir of men and woman chanted and hummed behind her.
Cinzia sat down on a pew. The sights and sounds of it all overwhelmed her. The woman in crimson and ivory robes, her voice carrying loud and clear throughout the Fane, the familiar tones of the choir’s singing, the silver altar and golden canopy that formed a Trinacrya when seen from above, the people looking up to the high priestess expectantly, hopefully, or even with boredom, an expression Cinzia had seen more than once herself while she recited these same passages, an expression that she’d thought was inevitable in any religious sermon until she saw her sister preach…
The high priestess had just reached the Zenith, the part of the recitation where she spoke of Canta’s birth on the Sfaera, her ministry, and her death. Cinzia realized how different the history recited by the high priestess was from the history she and Jane had translated from the Codex of Elwene. She had recognized the differences as they had translated the Nine Scriptures, but she had never been fully aware of the disparity until now, as she heard a high priestess reciting what Cinzia herself had recited so many times before.
“While Canta was born in the spirit eons ago, we know she came to us in the flesh during a very special time. At the midpoint of the Age of Reification—indeed, at the midpoint of our entire history—Canta condescended to be born among us. We do not know the circumstances of Her birth, but they must have been humble. Her mother was but a servant to a high house of the time, and her father hardly more than a beggar. She was born in the wilderness, but became the greatest among us.”
Cinzia shook her head. That had been one of the most shocking revelations of Elwene’s Codex: In the book of Arcana, Cinzia and Jane had learned that the Goddess’s mother had been a prostitute, of all things, and Her father a cruel nobleman who had tried to have the prostitute killed when he found out about her pregnancy. The woman had escaped, and borne her child amidst a circle of ancient standing stones in the wilderness, with only wild animals to keep her company—the only thing the Denomination seemed to get right. Cinzia could imagine why the Denomination would lie about such a thing—to say the Goddess their entire religion worshiped had been birthed by a prostitute wasn’t exactly good publicity.
But, according to Cinzia and Jane’s translation, it was the truth.
“She was born with neither privilege nor advantage,” the high priestess continued, “but she grew in wisdom and compassion. The baby soon became a young girl, instructing the very priests and priestesses that taught of gods from which Canta herself had sprung. That girl became a woman, and that woman changed the Sfaera.”
Cinzia found her lips moving with the high priestess’s with the next section of the recitation.
“When we sought wrath, she taught patience. When we ran from death, she taught the beauty of life. When we valued pride, she taught fear. When we grew greedy, she taught temperance. When we lusted, she taught love. When we could not bear the madness of the Sfaera any longer, she taught serenity. When we deceived one another, she taught integrity. When we coveted, she taught compersion. And when fear overcame us, she taught hope.”
The subtle references to the Nine Daemons were not lost on Cinzia. She was surprised Luceraf had nothing to say; the Daemon seemed to be in and out of Cinzia’s head lately, her presence unpredictable.
If the attributes of the Nine Daemons were everything wrong with the world, weren’t these the antidotes? Was Canta not the cure?
But if Canta was the cure, where did Cinzia, an excommunicate, stand? She had consorted with a Daemon, and was not even sure she was still worthy to be one of Jane’s disciples. And, more than that, Cinzia could not help but wonder whether both administrations of the cure were flawed. Both the Denomination and Canta’s Church had accomplished great things—even miraculous things—but both had also been responsible, inadvertently or otherwise, for great suffering.
The choir’s chanting became more melodious, splitting into harmony and rising in intensity with the high priestess’s words. Cinzia continued to mouth the recitation.
“She taught us in word, but also in deed. She led the people of the Sfaera against a great darkness, a darkness we have not known since and will likely not know again. She led us against the darkness, and saved us all. Only she could have done it. No other has done so much for the Sfaera. Her life did not begin that night in the wilderness, nor did it end that day as she fought the battle that none of us could fight. She lived before us, and she will continue to live after all of us have passed.
“She is the bride, and Her Denomination the groom. She is the mother, and we Her children. She created our souls, and she will reap them when the time is ready. One day we will all see Her again, and know her as She is, and be one with her, breaking the bonds of Oblivion. Her path is the way to happiness in this life and joy in that which is to come. Canta be thanked for her incomparable gift to us.”
The high priestess’s last words echoed through the Fane, with the last tones of the choir’s harmony. Cinzia wiped the tears from her cheeks. She cried because she felt nothing, and she was not entirely sure it was because of the Daemon inside of her.
A matron and her priestesses administered to the congregation with water and oil. When one priestess approached Cinzia, she shook her head, hood still drawn over her face, and the priestess continued on through the crowd. Cinzia breathed a sigh of relief. There were hundreds of priestesses in the Denomination, but Cinzia had at least been able to recognize most of the ones in Triah. She was sure most of them could say the same about her, especially now.
Afterward, the high priestess offered some closing words, and then the crowd dispersed.
Cinzia had arrived at the Fane during a recitation for this reason. She hoped the departing crowd would mask who she was and where she was actually going.
Instead of following the majority of the crowd back to the Fane’s entrance, she joined a smaller group moving west, and then north, toward the offices of the Ministry. There were always a few dozen laymen that made their way through the offices after a recitation, usually to speak with a particular member of the Ministry or to observe the Cantic artifacts visible on the main floor of the offices.
Those artifacts were hardly what the Denomination claimed them to be. Most of them were replicas of the real artifacts held in the Denomination’s security chambers below—the basement and higher levels of the Fane were strictly reserved for those with the rank of priestess or higher.
But the artifacts, real or not, were not what interested Cinzia today. The stairwells leading up to the restricted offices were not under constant guard; she just needed to slip into one without looking too conspicuous.
A few of the people who had entered the office corridor with her had gone straight to their destinations, whatever they were. A half dozen more lingered about, without any clear purpose. Cinzia remained with that group for a few moments. There were no Goddessguards in the room, and the members of the clergy present—a matron and two priestesses—were otherwise occupied.
Cinzia slipped away from the group she stood among and up the spiral steps, keeping her footsteps as light as possible. She passed the entrance to the first-floor offices, reserved entirely for priestesses. She wondered if the two women with whom she had once shared an office here still remained. Surely by now they had found someone to take her place.
She was halfway to the second level of offices when she heard two voices in conversation. Cinzia froze.
“The movement will eventually disperse, as will the followers,” one woman said. “This will amount to nothing, as these things always do.”
“‘These things?’” asked a second woman. “I should not have to remind you that something like this has never happened before, not in the history of the Denomination. You cannot possibly speak to what might happen here, sister.”
At first, Cinzia had been unable to tell whether the voices came from above or below her, but now it was clear they came from above. She paused for a moment longer, the voices growing louder, before she finally leapt to action and moved back down the stairwell as quickly as she could. She slipped out onto the first-floor corridor—still blessedly empty—and hid herself in a small alcove. A wall now separated her from the stairwell.
The women’s voices grew louder, and Cinzia hoped they would continue downward to the ground floor, but instead two women—two matrons—made their way onto the first floor, passing not one rod from where Cinzia stood. She could have touched the hem of one of their garments if she had desired.
Fortunately, the two were still engrossed in conversation, and did not yet notice her. Making sure neither were looking back, Cinzia slipped back out of the corridor and padded her way back up the stairwell.
“Did you hear something?” one of the women asked, her voice growing faint below. Cinzia did not stop to see what came of the question, and made her way upward.
The second-floor offices were reserved for matrons, and the third for diviners, but she had no business there, either. When she finally reached the fourth floor, she peeked around the corner into the corridor. Empty, thankfully. There were three floors above this: one for the high priestesses, another of meeting rooms for the High Camarilla, and the top floor reserved explicitly for the Triunity—the Oracle, the Holy Examiner, and the First Priestess. The Essera’s quarters were somewhere else in the Fane, their location unknown to the general public and the lower offices of the priesthood.
But the fourth floor was what drew Cinzia today. The Holy Crucibles of the Arm of Inquisition made their offices on the fourth floor, and there was one specific Crucible that Cinzia hoped to find.
She made her way down the corridor, passing rows of doors on either side. The offices on this level were noticeably nicer than those on the previous two floors. The wood was darker, stained and polished, and same with the flooring. There were twenty-seven Holy Crucibles in total, and while their seniority among one another was determined by how long each had held the position, there was no rhyme or reason to how the offices themselves were arranged. Shiny bronze nameplates declared to which Crucible each office belonged. Cinzia recognized most of the names—Crucibles, like high priestesses, were known to just about everyone in the ministry.
Finally, she stopped in front of the name she sought, engraved into one of the many brass nameplates.
Nayome Hinek.
Cinzia rapped sharply on the dark wood doorframe. The faint sound of a clearing throat reached Cinzia’s ears, and a rush of relief came with it. If Nayome had not been in her office, Cinzia would have had to make another attempt another time—and soon—and the more time she spent near the Fane and the Ministry, the more chance she had of being caught.
“Enter,” a woman’s voice, high and melodious, called out from inside the office.
Slowly, Cinzia pushed open the large wooden door, and entered the Crucible’s chamber. A Crucible’s office was much larger than the one Cinzia had shared when she was a part of the Ministry.
Thinking of her involvement with the Denomination in past tense still stung, and she fought back threatening tears as she took in the room. A large window extended almost the full length of the wall directly opposite the door from which Cinzia had entered. Daylight filled the room. To Cinzia’s left, a series of paintings hung from the wall above a set of large stuffed chairs. The floor was polished hardwood, and a large plain rug sat in the middle of the chamber.
To Cinzia’s right was a wooden desk, two empty wooden chairs on one side of the structure, with another, much larger chair on the other side, on which the Holy Crucible Nayome Hinek sat, her tiny stature dwarfed by the chair’s tall back.
“Hello, Your Grace,” Cinzia said, removing her hood and bowing her head. A part of her was still nervous, but she was surprised at how energized she felt at the same time. She was finally here, in front of Nayome, and was ready to speak her piece. She might not last long—Nayome might call immediately for the nearest Goddessguard—but at least she was here.
Nayome stood. She was a small woman, even shorter than Cinzia. Her blonde hair was pulled up neatly into a tight bun atop her head.
“Miss Oden,” Nayome said, inclining her head only slightly. “Ironic that now you refer to me in the correct terms, but you yourself are no longer a part of the Ministry. It took that long to…”
A deep frown creased Nayome’s face, and her eyes narrowed.
She senses me, Luceraf hissed in Cinzia’s head. Your mission, whatever it is, is thwarted.
Cinzia did not respond, but an inward thrill moved through her. While she was never happy to hear the Daemon rummaging around in her mind, this time it was part of her plan. She had counted on Nayome sensing the Daemon’s presence within her. It was Nayome’s job, after all, as a Holy Crucible to seek out and destroy any potential threats to the Ministry.
There was no threat greater than a Daemon.
Nayome’s legs almost buckled beneath her, and she steadied herself with an iron grip on the tall chair by which she stood.
“Cinzia, what has happened to you?”
“Do you not know, Nayome? Can you not sense it?”
“I…”
Slowly, Nayome closed her eyes.
Is she a psimancer? Luceraf asked, the surprise clear in her voice.
The Crucible’s eyes snapped open, and she took a step back from Cinzia, one hand still gripping the chair behind her desk, knuckles pale.
“Out,” Nayome hissed. “The High Camarilla were right. Excommunication was too light a sentence for you. I testified on your behalf, but this is worse than I could have imagined. We should have brought you in for execution, as we should have executed your sister in Navone.”
Cinzia hesitated. Nayome had testified on her behalf? Why would the Crucible have done such a thing? They had been friends once, but that had been long ago. Before Cinzia had betrayed Nayome, and the Denomination itself, in Navone.
“I need your help, Nayome,” Cinzia said. It was the only card she had to play, and Nayome’s admission, whether inadvertent or intentional, only made it more valuable.
“I cannot help you. You are not the Cinzia I knew.”
“I am.”
Luceraf laughed. She will never believe you.
You’re right, Cinzia thought, she will never believe me.
Then why are you here? Such foolishness. You’re only putting us both in danger.
If it puts you in danger, then nothing could be more important.
There is more at stake here than your life or mine.
Cinzia faltered. There it was again. There was something about the way Luceraf spoke at times, infrequently and unpredictably, when Cinzia could have sworn the Daemon was actually making an attempt at sincerity.
But, just as quickly as the sincerity came, it passed, and Luceraf was full of rage once more. Idiot girl, the Daemon whispered, your life will not be yours for much longer. When we have united, I will force you out, banish you to Oblivion, and that will be the end of it.
It had almost happened that day on the Coastal Road; she’d felt Luceraf pushing her out, felt her very self, everything that made her her, begin to disintegrate, and she never wanted that, not ever—but, at the same time, this was exactly what she wanted Luceraf to say.
She will never believe me, Cinzia repeated. But my hope, she said, her eyes meeting Nayome’s, pleading, but still speaking to Luceraf, is that she will believe you.
Nayome’s eyes widened.
Luceraf growled. You will not get away with this betrayal.
This isn’t a betrayal, Cinzia said. I don’t want you in my head.
And then Luceraf was gone again.
“Cinzia, what was that?” Nayome asked. She had backed up all the way against the stone wall behind her, both hands pressed back against it, palms flat.
“That was Luceraf,” Cinzia said. “One of the Nine Daemons.”
“And she has possessed you against your will?”
“Possess is a strong word,” Cinzia nodded, “but she and I are now in a… relationship, of sorts.” She refrained from responding to Nayome’s inquiry about will. The truth was, Luceraf had needed Cinzia’s consent to possess her. Cinzia had allowed it, in order to save Knot. Now that Knot was safe, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of the Daemon, but Luceraf had only needed her consent once.
“Nayome,” Cinzia said, looking the woman in the eye, “The Daemon has temporarily left my mind, for now, but I do not know what she is up to. She could return at any moment, or worse, we could face other challenges.”
“We are in the offices of the Denomination,” Nayome said, “what could she do to harm us?” The caution in her voice belied the confidence the words implied.
“That is why I have come to speak with you,” Cinzia said. “I need your help with something. With getting rid of this Daemon, and all of the Nine Daemons, once and for all.”
Nayome scoffed. “The Denomination have sought ways to do this for centuries. What makes you think you have actually found a method?”
Cinzia pointed to her head. “I have come to know one more intimately than I would like,” she said. “And I know someone who thinks we might find answers in the Denomination.” Cinzia doubted Nayome would recognize the Beldam by that title, and she did not know the woman’s actual name.
“Did your sister send you here, then?”
“No. I came here without her knowledge. She is not aware of my arrangement with Luceraf.”
“She is not also possessed by one of the Daemons?” Nayome asked. Cinzia could hear the incredulity in her voice.
“No,” Cinzia said sharply. “My sister’s movement is in opposition to the Nine Daemons. She works against them, more even than the Denomination.”
Nayome raised an eyebrow at that, but she seemed to consider all of this. “I see.” Cinzia wondered how Nayome could take it all in so calmly. If someone possessed by one of the Nine Daemons had come to her for help, she did not think she would be so accommodating. Let alone calm. “What is it you would ask of me, Cinzia?”
Cinzia did not hide her relief. Though tentative, Nayome’s response gave her hope.
“I need access to something called the Vault, in the Fane,” Cinzia said.
Nayome snorted. “The Vault? How do you even…” She shook her head. “Even if I wanted to get you there, it would be impossible.”
“I am assembling something of a team to help with that,” Cinzia said.
“If you think you can smash your way into—”
“No one will get hurt,” Cinzia said, hoping her promise was true. “Nothing will be damaged. I just need to get into the Vault. I need some time there to compare notes.”
“Compare notes? Cinzia, what information do you need? I can likely get whatever it is to you in a much simpler way than helping you break into the Vault.”
Cinzia shook her head. “It needs to be me. I need to see what the Denomination has, the core texts.”
“Impossible.”
Cinzia took a deep breath. She had one more card to play. “I have something else to tell you, Nayome.”
“In exchange for this favor?”
“You need to know it whether you help me or not. A Crucible’s duty is to root out corruption and heresy, is it not?”
“Of course. Currently, your sister’s movement—of which you are a disciple, my dear, do not think we don’t have that information—is the center of our investigation, though it’s proved maddeningly difficult to infiltrate, let alone confront and eliminate.”
“‘Look to the inward vessel before extending your arm of judgment,’” Cinzia quoted. The phrase came from the writings of the Cantic scholar Nazira; her work was so influential in the Denomination that Nayome could not but recognize it.
The Crucible’s face darkened. “What are you suggesting?”
“I am not suggesting anything,” Cinzia said, “only telling you what I know. We crossed paths with a matron from the Denomination in Turandel. She called herself the Black Matron. She served the Nine Daemons. Having now encountered her and seen what she was capable of, I believe the Cult is real, and she was one of its leaders.”
Cinzia regarded Nayome carefully. Nayome had clearly changed since becoming a Crucible, and Cinzia would never forget what had happened between them in Navone, but this woman was Cinzia’s best hope.
And yet one of her concerns in approaching Nayome had been the fear that Nayome herself might actually be a part of the Cult—a group of Cantic priestesses who served the Nine Daemons. Until she had encountered the Black Matron, Cinzia had thought the Cult was nothing more than a story novice priestesses told to scare one another.
But surely Luceraf’s anger at her meeting with Nayome showed that the Crucible was not part of the conspiracy.
Nayome’s face was so motionless and hard it could have been sculpted from marble.
“Was capable of?” the Crucible finally asked.
Cinzia cleared her throat. “The Black Matron perished on the Coastal Road.” I killed her. I nearly snapped her neck off of her body. The image, and the sickening crunch, still haunted her. It was not, however, the first time she had taken a life, and that thought made her unendingly sad.
Nayome nodded slowly, her jaw set as she eyed Cinzia. Likely discerning Cinzia’s thoughts at that very moment.
So be it. Let Nayome see what Cinzia had done. That did not mean Cinzia had to say it out loud.
“So you have no proof the Cult exists, then?” Nayome said. “How do you know it did not die with this woman… the Black Matron… on the Coastal Road?”
“Do you really think it would be limited to one matron and a few priestesses?” Cinzia took Nayome’s silence as agreement. “I do not know who you can trust,” Cinzia said. “I do not know how far up members of the Cult may have infiltrated the Denomination. I do not know for how long they have festered in our… in your ranks. But someone needs to do something about all of it. It is past time.”
Cinzia had said her piece. She had no other cards to play. She could actually hear the other woman’s teeth grinding.
“I’ll need to know more about what you are planning,” Nayome said. “Much more. And I’ll have to approve it all, as well as the people involved.”
Cinzia swallowed. That might be a difficult task, considering half of them were people Nayome had captured in Navone, but it would not be impossible.
“I agree to that,” Cinzia said.
“Good. Send a message to me when you know the time and place, and I will meet you. It is not safe here, especially in light of what you have just told me.”
Cinzia hesitated, not sure what else to do.
“You may go,” Nayome said, sitting back down at her desk and studying a document, as if nothing had passed between them.
Cinzia, her head bowed, put her hood back over her head and left.