CINZIA WAS ABOUT TO say something pithy about Astrid rushing away from her, when she saw the body. Knot lay prone on the floor, unmoving, a spear in his chest.
“Oh Goddess,” Cinzia whispered. Then she was right behind Astrid, moving to him.
“Is he—”
Knot lurched up, coughing.
“He’s alive!” Astrid exclaimed.
Cinzia moved to him, her mind racing. A thrill of elation rushed through her; for a moment, she had thought he was dead. And, as she got closer, she realized the spear was less in his chest and more in his shoulder. She breathed a sigh of relief. A shoulder wound was relatively easy to treat compared to a punctured lung or heart.
Knot mumbled something, and a thrill of elation rushed through Cinzia.
“What was that, nomad?” Astrid asked.
“I said,” Knot rasped, his voice hardly audible, “you’re bloody right I’m alive. But I need you to get this spear out of me.”
“Goddess, Knot, I want to hug you,” Cinzia said, aware now of tears streaming down her cheeks. Instead, she took his hand, and felt Knot grip her own tightly.
They worked together to get the spear out of him. His leather had stopped the barb from penetrating deep enough to get hooked into his flesh, and they could pull it out instead of having to push it all the way through. Cinzia heard the slick, wet, sliding sound of the spear moving, and felt Knot’s grip tighten. She held his hand with both of her own, until she heard a clatter as Astrid flung the spear away.
Quickly, Cinzia and Astrid put pressure on the wound using some cloth from the nearest bed in the chambers. Blood seeped from the wound, but Cinzia knew Knot would be all right.
She told him as much, and Knot coughed, eventually nodding. He made an attempt to get to his feet, but Cinzia put a hand on his shoulder gently.
“Do not try to move until you have to,” she said. She looked to Astrid. “Help him when he is ready.”
“We need to get out of here sooner rather than later,” Astrid said. “No telling when more of these bleeding Cultists will show up.”
“You’re right,” Cinzia said. “You need to get Knot to safety.”
“But not we?” Astrid asked.
Cinzia took a deep breath, and shook her head. “No,” she said. “Not we. You.”
“I can’t leave you here alone—” Astrid said, but Cinzia cut her off.
“You must. I will be damned if I let all of this be for nothing,” Cinzia said. “We came here for a reason. I can still accomplish that.”
“What if there are more of them waiting for you in the Vault?” Knot rasped, pushing himself to his feet despite Cinzia’s admonition. Bloody idiot. But she was glad to see him on his feet so soon, even if it was ill-advised.
Cinzia gave a small shrug in response. It was a chance they would have to take. But she could not bring herself to say that to Knot.
“I did defeat their high priestess,” Cinzia said. “What more could they send against me?”
Cinzia knew there were myriad answers to that question, but she hoped her bravado was enough to convince Knot.
“I can’t leave you,” he said again.
Cinzia gave him a look. “You are in no condition to remain, let alone protect me,” she said. “Astrid will not be of any use to me either, not if she has to split her time between protecting both of us.”
Knot looked back at Astrid, clearly torn.
Cinzia would not have that. As much as she liked Knot— Goddess, as much as she loved him—and as much as she wanted Knot with her, she wanted both him and Astrid safe.
And she had a feeling that, whatever she was about to face, she had to face it alone.
“You don’t have a choice,” Cinzia said. “I forbid you from following me.”
Knot raised an eyebrow. “Forbid?”
Cinzia did not look away from him. “Forbid,” she said.
The two held one another’s gaze. Cinzia wanted to reach out for him—Goddess, she wanted to kiss him, to feel the roughness of his cheek on her own, his lips on hers as he held her close.
But she knew she could not. Mainly because she did not want to aggravate his shoulder wound, but there were other reasons, too.
Which was why she was so surprised when he pulled her in to him, wrapping her in a one-armed embrace with his uninjured arm. He held her tightly for a moment, and Cinzia let herself be held.
Then she pulled away from him.
“Go,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheek, hopefully before he saw them.
To his credit, Knot actually did as she asked. Astrid moved to him quickly, helping him walk, and they descended down the stairs together.
Cinzia glanced at Nayome, still staring at the body of the Outsider before her, face pale, strands of hair loose and waving around her face.
“Where is the Beldam?” Cinzia asked, looking around the chambers.
No response.
Cinzia walked quickly around the circular room, searching for any sign of the woman. Goddess, if the Beldam had abandoned them—if she had used them, and gone on without her…
Then she noticed a small, limp form, crumpled against the outer wall of the chambers.
She approached the Beldam, and heard a low moan as she got closer. Cinzia was surprised at how small the Beldam looked. Her frame usually seemed much larger, more imposing, but now as she lay collapsed on the floor, her robes seemed uncharacteristically large, as if there were far too much fabric for such a slight person.
The Beldam’s eyes were open wide.
“What happened?” Cinzia asked. The twisting in her gut she had felt at seeing Knot so severely injured was completely gone now. Knot would be all right. And try as Cinzia might, she could conjure very little compassion for this woman. She only felt a sense of urgency; the Beldam knew of this secret vault, while no one else did.
“Daemon…” the Beldam said, nodding at the outsider. “Smacked me with its tail. Strong bugger. Sent me flying, and now I think… I think…”
The Beldam’s eyes rolled up into her head, and a wave of panic washed over Cinzia.
“Beldam,” Cinzia said, kneeling beside her. She reached out and touched the Beldam’s shoulder gently. “I need you to stay with me. Can you move your legs?”
“I can’t move anything,” the Beldam wheezed.
Cinzia dared not transport the woman, especially if she claimed to be unable to move any of her limbs. The Outsider had likely broken her back.
“Beldam,” Cinzia said, weighing her options. She could help this woman, or she could get what she needed from her, and move on.
Cinzia felt as if her heart were encased in stone. This woman had caused so many problems for the Odenites. She had caused so many problems for the tiellans.
“Can you tell me where the Vault is?”
“Vault…” the Beldam rasped.
“Yes,” Cinzia said, the impatience rising inside of her. Along with the impatience, a hot shame burned within her. Shame for not caring about what happened to this woman. Shame for what she knew she would do if the Beldam gave her even a hint of the Vault’s location. The Beldam’s life was a life, and whatever else Cinzia believed, did she not view life itself as sacred?
But this was also the woman who had led hundreds of Odenites away—who had preached hate against the tiellans, and sowed discord throughout Jane’s movement.
There is no fairness, no freedom, nothing of the sort. There is only truth and the inevitable pain that follows.
“Tell me where it is,” Cinzia said, keeping her voice steady.
“Vault, yes…” the Beldam whispered between long, ragged breaths. “Vault… painting.”
Painting? Cinzia looked around. At the opposite end of the chambers from which she knelt with the Beldam, a large painting hung on the wall between two of the large windows. If Cinzia had to guess, that wall faced the main body of the Fane—and, behind that section of the wall, a small ridge along the roof between the Ministry’s quarters and the Fane that Cinzia had always thought decorative more than anything.
Cinzia stood.
“Wait—” the Beldam said, but Cinzia did not. The shame filled her, overflowing, but she could not care about that now. She could not hear what else the Beldam had to say.
If the Beldam was still there when Cinzia had found what she was looking for, then she could think about helping her.
She grabbed Nayome on the way to the painting, making the other yelp.
“Come on,” Cinzia said, “we still have work to do.”
“What about—”
“There are more important things,” Cinzia said, the shame still hot inside of her. “She said the painting has something to do with the Vault. It’s time we investigate it.”
They approached the painting together, staring up at the huge frame.
It depicted the Triunity themselves: the First Priestess, the Holy Examiner, and the Oracle. The Oracle was seated in a simple wooden chair, while the First Priestess and Holy Examiner stood slightly behind her, each with a hand on the Oracle’s shoulder. The painting seemed… tacky.
“We cannot just leave her there,” Nayome said. “She will die.”
“She is a heretic,” Cinzia said. “Is that not her fate, according to your own law?”
“After a fair trial, yes,” Nayome said. Definitely back to her normal self, then. “It is my duty to see to it that she receives such.”
“A fair trial,” Cinzia scoffed. “Like the one you gave my sister in Navone?”
“That…” Nayome blanched. “Those were unusual circumstances, Cinzia.”
“It is an odd portrait, is it not?” Cinzia asked, reaching up to run one hand along the gilded frame.
“I…” Nayome blinked, took one last look back at the Beldam, then nodded. “Yes,” she said. “The Triunity’s pretentiousness has never been subtle.”
Cinzia gripped the frame.
“Be careful,” Nayome said, “I’m sure it is quite…”
With a gentle tug she removed the painting from the wall, and set it on its side on the ground.
“…heavy,” Nayome finished, but her lips formed the word almost as an afterthought.
Cinzia looked up to where the painting had been, and saw what Nayome stared at so intently.
It was a door.
Cinzia was not sure why she was so surprised; the Beldam had informed them this was exactly what they were to expect. A vault implied an entrance of some kind or another.
The door, neither protruding nor set into the stone but exactly flush with the wall, seemed to be made of a single, solid piece of wood, with no hinges or locking mechanism that she could see.
“That’s it, then?” Nayome asked.
The two of them stood there for a moment, and then Cinzia stepped forward, and pressed on the door. It swung inward, revealing a stark, dimly lit corridor. Dust particles swam through the air in soft beams of light.
The corridor it revealed kindled a spark of excitement inside of her. This place, wherever it led, could hold the answer to what she had been looking for all along.
Cinzia took a step toward the portal. She peeked into the corridor, and saw in the distance another door at the end of the hallway. Cinzia stepped up through the door and into the corridor.
Nayome had not moved from where she stood.
“Are you coming?” Cinzia asked.
After a moment, Nayome shook her head. “No,” she said, “I do not think so.”
“We have come all this way. How can you stop here?”
“I can stop here,” Nayome said slowly, “because I am comfortable in my faith. I am confident in it. Whatever is in there, whatever you’re about to find, I don’t need to know.
“I helped you because I think you are right: something must be done about the Nine Daemons. But if whatever you find in there has something to do with Canta, or the Denomination, I do not want to know about it.”
Cinzia stared at Nayome for a moment, completely aghast. She had never considered Nayome would stop at the threshold of something so bizarre, so interesting, so potentially groundbreaking.
“Are you not the least bit curious?” Cinzia asked.
“No, Cinzia, I am not.”
“Very well, then,” Cinzia said. “Will you wait here?”
“For a time,” Nayome said. “But if you take too long…”
Cinzia nodded. “I understand,” she said. Which she did, and she also did not.
Did you actually think you were rekindling your friendship with this woman? Cinzia asked herself incredulously. Things were strained for them when Cinzia was actually a part of the ministry; to think that they could have a relationship now was preposterous.
She left the door open behind her. The corridor itself was long, and stuffy; small rectangular glass windows shone light into the hallway where the wall met the ceiling every few rods. Cinzia did not see much opportunity for ventilation in the hallway; the dust was everywhere, the air thick and musty.
The doorway at the other end seemed to be the twin of the one through which Cinzia had just walked: a solid piece of wood. This one, however, had visible hinges on her side, and a small latch. Both doors opened inward into the corridor that led from the Triunity’s chambers to the Vault.
When Cinzia reached the door, she placed her hand on the small iron latch. With a deep breath, she pulled, and the door opened to reveal a surprisingly bright, clean room.
Daylight streamed in through bright stained-glass windows all around her. She estimated that the room must be directly above the Fane’s chapel. Thick, round pillars interrupted her vision of the room, in roughly the same places where she knew thick, round columns rose up from the floor of the chapel. But the stained glass, the columns, even the strange objects on display throughout the room did not catch her attention.
There was a woman standing directly opposite her.
Cinzia did not recognize her at first; the woman was older than Cinzia, perhaps in her fortieth summer, with the faintest crinkles around her mouth and eyes, but otherwise her face and skin were dark and smooth. Her wiry jet-black hair formed a tight halo around her head. It was not until Cinzia took a few steps closer that she realized who it was she was actually facing. Instinctively, she knelt.
Cinzia knelt before Arcana Blackwood, Essera of the Cantic Denomination.
She forced herself to stand again, reminding herself she was no longer part of the Denomination.
“I almost did not recognize you without your robes, Essera.”
Normally, the Essera wore her traditional robes in public and when conducting the necessary business of the Denomination: a large, thick, hooded affair, one half of which was cloth-of-silver, the other half cloth-of-gold, the line separating the two running straight down the middle of the robe. Crimson trimmed the sleeves and hem of the garment. It was unmistakable, even more remarkable than Arcana’s personal appearance, as one of the few women in the upper ministry from Maven Kol.
But now, the Essera wore a simple white dress, light and loose, that cascaded around her slight form. The Essera inclined her head.
“Cinzia Oden. I wondered whether I might see you here.”
“What are you doing here, Essera?” Cinzia asked, adding quickly, “If you will forgive me for asking.”
The Essera’s dark brown eyes met Cinzia’s.
“You seem to have no trouble asking other questions,” the woman said, her voice heavy with weariness. “Why would you not ask me that one?”
Cinzia did not know what to say. Questions raced through her mind—why was the Essera here, in the Vault, of all places? Had she known about Garyne? Did she know about the Cult in general? Did she know about the Nine Daemons?
The Essera represented everything Cinzia had left behind; everything she had abandoned to follow her sister, and everything that had now abandoned her. The Essera was the literal mouthpiece of Canta, according to the Denomination’s doctrine. She spoke for the Goddess; she was, for all intents and purposes, an avatar of the Goddess.
Cinzia wobbled on her feet, catching herself with both hands against the nearest pillar.
“Are you all right, my child?” the Essera asked, taking a single step toward Cinzia.
Looking into this woman’s eyes was like looking into the sun for too long; Cinzia felt an intense discomfort, an almost incomprehensible desire to look away as quickly as she could.
“I am not all right,” Cinzia said quietly.
“No, I do not imagine you are.”
“Why did you excommunicate me?” Cinzia asked, the question ripping from her, accompanied by a sob of pain. She felt immediate embarrassment for the sob, for even asking the question in the first place, but she could not help it. The pain was too great and had been buried for too long, and she could not help but ask it in that moment.
“My child,” the woman said, reaching out to touch Cinzia’s face.
When the Essera’s fingers made contact, an ethereal shock spread from Cinzia’s cheek, through her face and down toward her toes. It was not painful, but rather a feeling of intense and sudden heat, and Cinzia found herself standing tall, face to face with the Essera. Or, as close to face to face as Cinzia could be; she was shorter than average, after all, and the Essera tall and elegant.
“You know why we did what we did,” the Essera said, her voice warm, but sad. “You knew it was the only consequence of your choice to remain with your sister.”
The Essera was right, of course. Cinzia had known she would be excommunicated the moment she chose to go against the Denomination—to go against Nayome—in Navone.
“Are you a part of the Cult?”
“No, Cinzia, I am not. I was warned they were coming to the Triunity’s quarters, and I knew I had to get out of there. Garyne is perfectly willing to bend the knee to me in front of someone else, but I fear behind closed doors, with other goals in mind, she would not be so accommodating to my office.”
“But you know of the Cult?” Cinzia asked.
“I know about everything in the Denomination.”
“So you are… hiding?” Cinzia asked.
The Essera nodded, her hand still on Cinzia’s cheek. The warmth continued to spread through her, from her face to the tips of her toes and fingers.
“And Canta told you to hide here?” Cinzia asked.
“My child,” the Essera said, “you have been through a great deal. You may not believe me, but I am happy to see you. While we have our differences, I know you do not seek to harm me, at least. Or wrong the people of the Sfaera.”
She did not answer my question.
With the warmth, Cinzia realized, was something else that permeated her body, and her mind. She felt emboldened, strangely, as if she could do anything she desired, but at the same time her head felt… fuzzy. Unclear.
Cinzia took a step back, breaking the contact with the Essera, and immediately shivered, as if a stiff, cool breeze had flurried through the chamber, and she no longer felt quite so bold. Instead, she felt just a little sadder, a little more inadequate than she had been just a moment ago.
But the fuzziness in her head was gone.
The Essera cocked her head to one side. “What do you mean, Cinzia?”
“Your hand on my face, I felt something…”
The Essera’s eyes widened, just for a moment, but then her face returned to the affectionate, understanding openness that Cinzia had noticed since she first recognized the woman.
“I am not sure what you—”
Cinzia shook her head, taking another step away from the Essera. “No,” she said, “we are past that, I am afraid. You cannot lie to me as if I were a little girl, Essera. You cannot lie to me as if I were still one of your priestesses.”
The Essera looked at Cinzia, the woman’s face slowly morphing into something expressionless, something… dead. Goddess, for just a moment Cinzia recognized a flash of the same deadness she had seen in Knot’s face, and in Code’s so long ago.
The Essera sighed, her shoulders slumping.
“Call me Arcana,” the Essera said. “And I shall just call you Cinzia. No more of this ‘child’ nonsense. We’re both adults here, after all.”
“Call you… Arcana?” Cinzia repeated. She had almost preferred it when the woman was playing the part of the Essera as she expected it; this new personality, whether the woman’s true self or just an act, put Cinzia completely off her guard.
As, Cinzia imagined, it was meant to do.
“I’m lauded as the great Essera of the Cantic Denomination every day, all day long, and it will continue that way for the rest of my life, I think. A break is welcome.” The Essera indicated the room they were in. “But you came here for something—not to meet me.”
It felt like permission, of a kind. With the Essera at her side, Cinzia began to slowly walk through the Vault, and really take it in for the first time.
It was not stocked full of documents and artifacts, as Cinzia had expected it to be. It took her only a moment to count nine pure white marble pedestals, each with an item of some kind on a platform at their top.
“Of course it is nine,” Cinzia whispered.
“Numbers are significant,” the Essera said, “more so than any of us realize. And the number nine, well, it is one of the most important.”
“Just because it is repeated often in history,” Cinzia said quietly, “does not make it something magical or divine.”
“I would not be so sure,” the Essera said. “There is power in repetition. There is power in what people think, and repetition can shape what they think—even what they believe.”
“What are all of these things, then?” Cinzia asked, gazing around at each of the items: a large book, not unlike the Codex; a pile of pages, unbound and loose, yet stacked in perfect symmetry; a large dagger, perhaps the length of Cinzia’s forearm, with a wide, dark gray blade, hilt wrapped in dark leather, and a bright blue jewel embedded in the pommel; a velvet box with a gold-and-silver Trinacrya embedded on the lid; a simple folded brown cloth; a Trinacrya larger than Cinzia’s spread fingers that almost seemed to give off its own light; and, perhaps oddest of all, an entire dining set—plates, bowls, cutlery, cups, and a goblet, all carved from some strange dark stone, and set up atop the pedestal as if someone were about to sit down to eat there. Just as the Trinacrya seemed to give off its own light, this dining set also had the faintest of glows coming from it, if Cinzia looked at the thing sideways, anyway, although the colors emanating from the plates, forks, and so forth seemed multicolored in nature. Lastly, the pedestal closest to Cinzia held a blood-red jewel, oblong in shape; one moment it seemed no larger than the last joint of Cinzia’s thumb, the next the size of an egg, and then the size of a human head, and in the blink of an eye it shifted back to the size of Cinzia’s thumb.
The ninth pedestal was empty.
“Keepsakes,” the Essera said. “Items of great value and worth. Illusions. There are even a few magical artifacts, if you could believe such a thing.”
“You would be surprised what I…”
Cinzia stopped. The words felt wrong in her mouth as she formed them, and she trailed off.
Her personal beliefs, or lack thereof, aside, what Cinzia saw fascinated her. I want to know about all of them, she wanted to say. Tell me their names. Tell me what they do, where they came from. Tell me their importance and significance.
But she was here for a reason. Cinzia could not forget that.
“I need to fight the Nine Daemons,” Cinzia said. “I need something that will help me combat them.”
“Something to fight the Nine Daemons,” the Essera said slowly. “I can’t pretend I did not expect this, Cinzia, but… how can you be sure such a thing exists? Let alone in this room?”
Cinzia glared at the Essera. “It is here,” she said. “I know it is. It must be here.”
“You have faith that it is here, then?” the Essera asked.
Faith. That word again. A thing Cinzia had once had, as a priestess. Or thought she had possessed, at least. Then she had found her sister, at the head of something she could only believe was heretical… and yet she witnessed miracles from her sister, and herself, as well.
But then, she had realized many things about faith. That she could have faith, and give up her own right to control.
Why did she not feel that way now?
Perhaps because you no longer have any idea who, or what, you are supposed to have faith in anymore.
She remembered feeling love on the rooftops of Izet. She remembered that sense of innate worth, of acceptance. She had thought it had come from Canta at the time.
Was it possible the feelings had not?
“Why don’t you ask the question you truly came here to ask?” the Essera said. “It is time you got this off your chest.”
Cinzia frowned, frustrated.
“Is…” As the question formed in her mind, she immediately felt stupid for even asking such a thing, but she was too far into it now, the chance to have someone like the Essera answer it too tempting; the potential for an answer overtook any embarrassment she felt. “Is Canta real? Does she truly exist?”
Now there is a question worth answering, Luceraf said, her voice once again devoid of sarcasm or anger.
The Essera’s shoulders rose and fell, either in a slow shrug or a long, deep breath.
“Of course she is real,” the Essera said. “You have witnessed her miracles firsthand. You have felt her love, have you not?”
“Her miracles? You mean what we have done with the Codex?”
“That, and all the other things you, the other disciples, and your sister herself have done.”
“Then we are not heretics?” Cinzia asked, unable to hide her confusion.
“Oh, you are certainly heretics. There can be no doubt about that. But that does not mean what you have done is not miraculous. That does not mean what you have done does not come from Canta. Or, at least, some version of her.”
Some version of her?
“Whether she exists was not quite the right question, either, Cinzia. Think harder. Look deeper. There is something more.”
Arcana’s answers only produced more questions, but Cinzia felt a strange, momentary sense of peace as she settled on her final question.
“If Canta exists… does it matter?” Cinzia asked slowly.
Arcana nodded, although this time Cinzia knew, somehow, that it was not in answer to the question, but in affirmation of the question itself.
“There it is,” Arcana said softly.
Cinzia looked around at each of the artifacts again. She thought of where she was—above Canta’s Fane, one of the most impressive structures ever built, something that took decades to complete. She thought of the Denomination itself, the organization that had dictated how people had lived and loved and died for centuries. She thought of how she had jumped from the Denomination to Jane’s movement, without so much as asking why.
She looked back up at Arcana, their eyes meeting once more.
“Does it?” she asked, repeating her question. “What is the answer?”
Of course it matters, a part of Cinzia wanted to scream. It matters because if it does not, what has all of this been for? What has been the purpose of Jane’s entire movement? What has been the purpose of the Denomination meddling in the lives of countless people throughout the ages? It must matter, because if it does not, then we are truly lost. It must matter, because if the evils the Denomination has brought upon the people of the Sfaera are simply… human evils, then it is not a world worth living in.
And if those evils are from a deity, how is that better? a voice asked in her mind. Whether it was her own, or Luceraf’s, Cinzia was not sure.
Arcana’s lips formed a thin, flat line. “I do not offer answers, Cinzia. I am only here to help you ask the right questions.”
“What in Oblivion is that supposed to mean?”
“What would you have me say? That yes, it does matter? Or that it should? Or would you rather I told you Canta’s existence does not matter at all? Or should I answer your question with another question, and ask you why in Oblivion my opinion on all of it matters?”
“Your opinion on all of this matters,” Cinzia said through gritted teeth, “because you are the Essera. You are supposed to be Canta’s mouthpiece on the Sfaera. You are supposed to speak for her.”
“I do,” Arcana said, “and I have. But not always. You know this. I speak for her, but I am not her, Cinzi.”
Cinzia began pacing, still shaking her head. “Do not call me that,” she said.
Arcana inclined her head, but her demeanor did not change.
“So I came all this way to not get an answer?” Cinzia asked.
“I think you came all this way,” Arcana said slowly, “To learn the right question.”
Cinzia’s legs wobbled, and her knees suddenly felt very weak. She leaned her back against one of the columns, and before she knew it she slid down until she sat on the floor of the Vault, her head in her hands.
“This cannot be all there is,” Cinzia said quietly. “Questions, and more questions. Only questions, and no answers.”
“I never said there were no answers,” Arcana said. “But there are fewer than we like to think. And between the two, the question is by far the more important.”
Cinzia snorted.
“There are questions and answers, and there are questions and choices. We ask questions, and we rarely get answers… but we can always make choices.”
“I did not come here for a life lesson,” Cinzia said.
“And yet here you are, getting one, and for free, more or less.” Arcana smiled, and Cinzia could have sworn the woman winked. “Canta be blessed.”
Cinzia sighed in frustration. “As fascinating as this conversation is,” she said, only meaning it sarcastically in part, “I do have important business to be about. As, I am sure, do you.”
“Don’t I always,” Arcana muttered. “Very well. If you insist we move on to the business at hand, we shall. In so doing we will reach one of those aforementioned choices, Cinzia.”
Steadying herself on the ground, Cinzia stood awkwardly, brushing dust from her dress. “And what choice is that?” Cinzia asked, looking around at each of the artifacts. “I need to take whatever will help me fight the Nine Daemons the best,” she said. “It seems to me that there can only be one choice, given that information.”
“That is what you need,” Arcana said, “but you have yet to take into account what you want.”
Cinzia threw up her hands. “Oblivion, enough with the games, Arcana! Just tell me what is going on.”
“You can only take one item from this room,” Arcana said.
Cinzia eyed each of the items warily. “What do you mean? There is some kind of curse on them, then? Or this room as a whole?”
Arcana laughed. “Nothing so mystical. I have told my closest aids of our situation. A group of Goddessguards and Sons, along with psimantically powerful priestesses, await the outcome. If anything should happen to me, or if you leave this room with more than one item, they will kill you. And your friends.”
“My… friends,” Cinzia asked.
“We apprehended the vampire and your friend Knot on their way out of the Fane,” she said. “They are in our custody.”
Cinzia’s heart stopped. “Knot—”
“—is fine,” Arcana said, “for now. As is the vampire. As long as you play by the rules, Cinzia.”
“Why are you doing this?” Cinzia asked, all of her confidence deflating. After all of their planning, all of their sneaking around and organization, this was the result? “You could take all of us captive. You could kill us, if you wish. What is stopping you? Why allow me to just… walk out, with an artifact?”
“Believe it or not,” Arcana said, “we are not completely at odds, you and I. Outward appearances dictate I respond in a certain way to you, your sister, and the so-called ‘church’ you’ve initiated. But that does not mean we are enemies, Cinzia.”
“You are saying,” Cinzia said, “you want to see the Nine Daemons defeated as much as I do.”
“Of course,” Arcana said. “Don’t we all want that?”
Something about the way the woman said those words made Cinzia pause, but too many other thoughts overwhelmed her before she could continue down that path. “You are going to give us something to help us fight the Nine Daemons,” Cinzia said slowly, “so that you do not have to?”
“More or less.”
“You want to use us,” Cinzia said, “as weapons to do the work that you do not wish to do?”
“You can think of it that way if you wish, but it is only a half-truth. We want you to be our weapons, yes, but we need you to do the work that we cannot do. It is not a matter of convenience or wish, Cinzia. It is a matter of ability. You and your group have abilities and freedoms that we in the Denomination do not have.”
“You also have a corrupt Cult within your own organization,” Cinzia said bitterly. “How can I trust that you are not in league with them? That you are not their leader, for Canta’s sake?”
“I already told you,” Arcana said patiently, “The only reason we find ourselves in this unique situation is that I came here to hide from the Cult. I knew I would be no match for Garyne, not alone. So I hid here.”
“You set a trap for me.”
“When I saw you coming, I knew I had an opportunity. I took advantage of it.” Arcana said, with another demure shrug. “You have the question, Cinzia. Now, let me present you with the choice.”
Cinzia took a deep breath. She had no other option if Knot and Astrid truly were in danger; she needed to do as asked. “Very well. I can choose one of the eight items, I suppose?” She walked to the nearest pedestal—the one holding the dark crimson jewel.
“You can choose one of two items, actually,” Arcana said. “We know what you need, or what you think you need, at least. I have an idea of what you want, as well. Your choice will be between the two.”
“And there are two items here that will satisfy each of those requirements?” Cinzia asked, incredulous.
“There are,” Arcana said. “The first is that jewel, the one you are so close to touching.”
Cinzia’s hand was already halfway toward the jewel.
Don’t be a fool, Cinzia. That was Luceraf, to be certain. This woman is insane. She has no idea what she is talking about.
Strange that you have been silent for so long, Cinzia responded thoughtfully. I take it you have been listening to everything she says. You are the common enemy here. Should I not just do the opposite of whatever it is you want?
You cannot be sure, Luceraf whispered. I might be trying to trick you.
Luceraf was right, of course, but the way the Daemon whined the words made Cinzia confident in her assessment. Luceraf’s outburst just now had been one of self-preservation, and the Daemon was only trying to cover her response, now.
“I wouldn’t recommend touching it, if I were you,” Arcana said. “Not yet, at least. If the history behind that object is to be believed, it can have very ugly effects on those who are not worthy or ready to wield its power.”
“This will help me combat the Nine Daemons?” Cinzia asked, taking a careful step back from the red jewel. The fact that Luceraf did not like the item made her confident, but she did not want to touch it until she was ready.
“That,” Arcana said, “is Canta’s Heart. It warns of the presence of any of the Nine, and when used with the correct sacrifice, it has the power to overcome them. To cast them out.”
To cast them out.
A small, twinkling star of hope burst in Cinzia’s soul.
I could be rid of you.
Do not be so sure, the Daemon said. That does not work the way you think it does.
But the Daemon sounded afraid, and that in and of itself gave Cinzia courage.
“I think,” Arcana said, looking Cinzia up and down, “you might have particular need of such a thing.”
Cinzia shot the woman a glance. “What do you know of that?”
“I know what possesses you,” Arcana said simply. “Beyond that…” She shrugged. “But I do think this could help you, if you chose it.”
Cinzia stared at the gem. It continued to shift sizes, though the longer Cinzia looked at it, the more stable it seemed to become. It now only fluctuated between the size of an egg and the size of a man’s fist. While its deep red color shone brightly, Cinzia also noticed what appeared to be bursts of other colors. She was not sure whether it was a trick of the light, or reflections, or something else altogether, but the burst of color appeared to come from within the gem itself.
“And my other option?” Cinzia asked, still staring at the gem.
Arcana walked away from Cinzia, and with some effort she tore her gaze away from the gem so she could follow the Essera.
The woman led her to the two pedestals Cinzia had seen first; the two pedestals between which Arcana had stood when Cinzia had first entered the room. To the left, a pedestal held the book that looked so much like the Codex of Elwene. Cinzia wondered if, somehow, this actually was a copy of the Codex, exactly as she and Jane had been translating, until Cinzia had been robbed of that privilege.
The gem will help me gain that privilege back again, Cinzia thought.
But you would lose your strength, Luceraf whispered, the speed with which I have blessed you.
Cinzia allowed herself a smile. The Daemon, apparently, no longer cared whether Cinzia thought she was bluffing or not.
Arcana pointed one long, bony finger at the stack of papers on the other pedestal. “This,” she said, “will tell you the truth. I cannot say for certain, but it may hold answers to some of the questions that seem to concern you so.”
“Answers,” Cinzia said quietly, walking toward the stack of papers. As she got closer, she looked up at Arcana. “Can I look at them? Or will something ugly happen to me if I touch these, too?”
“Go ahead, if you wish,” Arcana said.
Immediately Cinzia picked up the top page. It was heavier than Cinzia had expected, but still seemed to be made out of paper of some kind, not stone, as it seemed, or thin metal like the Codex. The page was blank. No writing, runes, or anything of the sort. Keeping the page in one hand, she reached out with her other to retrieve the second. It, too, was blank.
“What—”
“You of course will not be able to read them,” Arcana said, “until you make your choice. The contents of those papers… not many people know the truth of them. Not many people at all.”
“Do they have a name?” Cinzia asked.
“The Veria,” Arcana said. “That is all anyone has called them.”
“And they are not bound because…”
“Because they cannot be,” Arcana said. “If you choose to take them, you could try, and you would see. Such a thing is impossible.”
Gently, Cinzia placed the two pages she had taken back on top of the pile. They settled into place as if an unseen force compelled them back to where they belonged.
Cinzia looked around at each of the pillars. These artifacts belonged to the Age of Marvels.
“The Denomination has kept these things secret for so long.”
“We have,” Arcana said, “and we do not apologize for it. Only the uppermost people in the Ministry know of this vault. Myself, the Triunity, and the occasional high priestess…”
Cinzia remembered the Beldam, lying broken on the stone floor of the Triunity’s quarters. If Arcana knew about her, she gave no indication.
“The time has come to make your choice, Cinzia. What will it be? The gem, or the pages?”
Cinzia glanced back over her shoulder at the gem, once again shifting radically in size. “You said one of them I need, and one of them I want.”
“That is what I said, yes.”
Cinzia closed her eyes. The gem would help her fight the Nine Daemons; the pages would… give her some answers?
Take the pages, Luceraf whispered.
Of course you would want me to take the pages, Cinzia responded. The other option would expel you from me.
Allegedly. Even so, Cinzia, there is more at stake here than you or I.
Luceraf had said that to her before.
What do you mean, there is more at stake? Cinzia asked.
“I know it is a difficult choice, Cinzia, but we really do not have much time. Please, make your decision soon.”
“Choices like this cannot be rushed,” Cinzia muttered.
I cannot be specific, Luceraf responded, but I can tell you all is not as it seems. This woman speaks to you of wants and needs. She thinks you want whatever answers lie in these pages, and need the gem to fight the Daemons—to fight me. I say she has it backwards. You would like me gone, I understand that. But you need to know the truth of all of this, Cinzia. You need to understand what we are doing.
If I need to understand, why do you not just tell me?
I can’t, Luceraf said, her voice rising in tone and tightness. Goddess, was the Daemon panicking?
“It is time, Cinzia.”
Cinzia locked eyes with the Essera. She could feel Arcana’s brown eyes scanning her, trying to see past her own into her soul, into the choice she had to make.
You think she is lying to me? she asked Luceraf.
I think she is telling you her version of the truth.
And you are telling me yours. How can you expect me to choose between the two of you?
When no response came, Cinzia grew worried. Would the Daemon truly have left her now, at such a crucial moment?
Luceraf?
You are right. I cannot expect you to do such a thing. I will leave you alone to make the choice yourself, then. But please, remember my words, Cinzia: All is not as it seems.
And then, at least for the moment, Luceraf was gone.
“You’ve been conversing with him, haven’t you?” Arcana asked.
Cinzia took a few deep breaths, Luceraf’s sudden departure making her somewhat dizzy. “I… With who?”
“With the Daemon inside you,” Arcana said, her voice not without its own accusatory tone.
Cinzia finally broke the staring contest with the Essera, and looked instead at the pages. “It is a woman, actually,” she mumbled, almost absent-mindedly.
“It’s a… what?”
“The Daemon inside of me,” Cinzia said. “It’s one of the female Daemons. Not a ‘him,’ anyway.”
Cinzia remembered Luceraf’s words. She is telling you her version of the truth.
Then, she turned on her heel, and strode toward the red gem.
“You have made your—”
Before Arcana could finish her sentence, Cinzia had grasped the red gem in both hands, the size of the thing immediately stable—she could hold it comfortably in one hand. The red glow darkened the moment she picked it up, but so far the gem seemed to have no adverse effect on her.
“…choice,” Arcana said, clearly surprised at Cinzia’s resolve.
“I have,” Cinzia said, feeling the weight of the gem in her palm—much heavier than she would have expected. Though its size had stabilized, it seemed far too heavy for something so small. She looked back at the Essera. “Has anything ugly happened to me yet?” Cinzia could not tell whether she asked the question in jest, or with sincere concern.
“No…” Arcana said slowly. “Very well then, Cinzia. You have made your choice.”
“How does this work?” Cinzia asked. “You said something about sacrifice.”
“I did, but I am afraid I do not know any specifics. The lore of that gemstone states that the user will come to understand it intuitively. It has not been used in many centuries.”
The gemstone drew Cinzia’s gaze back to it. Had she sacrificed potential knowledge for a shiny rock? She felt no different, having picked it up. Luceraf made no acknowledgement of Cinzia’s choice. Other than the weight of it, and the strange appearance of the gem, there was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Very well, the choice is made. It is time for us to part ways. I will order my people to release yours. And, my dear Cinzia, I hope this does not end our relationship. I hope we can do business together again sometime.” The woman made as if to move toward Cinzia, to embrace her or grasp hands, but seemed to think better of it. The Essera of the Cantic Denomination instead inclined her head toward Cinzia, and then swept out of the room, her white dress flowing behind her.
Cinzia stared after her. Was she supposed to follow the Essera? Or wait—
In a flash of red light, the Vault around her disappeared, and everything went dark.