Page 44 of Dead Wrong

I nodded in response. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“A sanctuary for the time being. I’ll have to make contact with Rudderkin once things have calmed down. Then we can get you back to your sister.”

“And Bastien.”

Cirian’s hand dropped away, his demeanor cooling. “Yes, and your necromancer. Let’s hope he hasn’t moved onto another cold body by the time you two can reunite.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Cirian, I would argue you sounded like a jilted lover.”

Cirian didn’t respond to the accusation, instead muttering something under his breath, and a small orb of blue light burst into the space above his open palm. He held out his hand, illuminating the path forward. “Shall we?”

I let the details of his reaction sink in. Was this something more than just the normal animosity between Hallowed and Reviled?

Having no other option, I agreed, following Cirian as he led us back onto a trail. The woods surrounding us from all sides were deathly quiet, our steps swallowed by the heavy cover of leaves and hanging moss. The night’s chill had even silenced the insects, so instead of dwelling on the awkward silence, I asked the question blooming in my mind.

“What is it about the Reviled that bothers you so?”

Cirian didn’t look back at me, his gaze trained ahead. For a brief moment, I thought he hadn’t heard my inquiry, but then he spoke, words skipping over the soft earth like stones along the surface of a pond. “If you’re referring to the Church’s stance, I’m afraid it’s a long story. One that isn’t as cut and dry as the history books make it out to be.”

I hastened my steps, coming alongside Cirian, marveling at the deep shadows the orb of light cast across his face. He really was striking to look at. Like a piece of artwork, chilling at first impression but warmed the longer you stared.

“Perhaps you could explain it to me then since we’ve nothing naught else to discuss. Who better to help me understand than the future leader of the Hallowed himself?”

The edge of Cirian’s mouth twitched, and once again, I found myself wondering if I’d pushed too far, but it wasn’t long before he spoke again. “Up until a hundred and fifty years ago, the Hallowed and Reviled belonged to the same community of Magi, known as the Revered. We both worshiped the Source for its gifts and recognized our place among the Magi as spiritual leaders and healers.”

“A hundred and fifty years?” I echoed. “Forgive my addled mind, but I was under the impression the schism went back centuries.”

Cirian shook his head. “That is a false narrative disseminated through the Church. As is the reason for the schism. They would have you believe the Reviled to be unholy wretches without a rational thought amongst the lot. That they sought to defy the very nature of the Source and violate its most sacred beliefs, and these perversions led the late Cardinal to banish them from the cities of Magi. But that is not the truth of the matter. See, the fracturing of the Revered was not started internally, but brought about by outsiders.”

“Who would wish for such a thing?”

Cirian looked at me, a quizzical expression bending his brow. “There were plenty who wished to topple the Church, I’m sure. But the prevailing theory is that these usurpers infiltrated the Revered, serving in our communities as members of the Church of the Source, spreading lies and conspiracy amongst the factions. By the time the late Cardinal realized what was happening, it was too late to stop the inevitable.”

“What sort of lies?”

“The Revered were blessed as a people with many gifts by the Source. We can knit flesh as if it were fabric. Expel toxins from the body with a simple incantation. Commune directly with the Source without being driven mad. But there were those amongst us who had more powerful gifts, still. Those who could tamper with the very balance of life and death.”

“The Reviled.”

He nodded, attention falling back to the path ahead. “Before the schism, none of them were called as such. They bore symbols on their flesh—” he trailed a finger along his forearm from wrist to elbow— “that marked them as divine. They were the most respected members of our society at one time, some of which were Elders who had manipulated the flow of time to live nearly a millennium. Powerful projectionists who could send their souls through the ether to the afterlife and destinations beyond. And necromancers who could stay the very hand of Death.”

I shivered once more, pulling the garment around my shoulders closer, though it had nothing to do with the night’s chill. No wonder Bastien had gone to such lengths to hide the swirling markings on his arms. They would have given him away at a glance.

“The other Revered became jealous of those with more power than themselves. And with the outsider’s influence, the fires of their animosity were flamed to the point of revolt. They crusaded against the families now labeled as Reviled, claiming them heretics amongst believers.” Cirian paused for a moment, his pensive expression deepening. “The others were quick to believe such lies, if only because they saw it as an excuse to act on their basest of desires. The Reviled were rounded up and expelled from the Magi cities. Those who refused to flee were made examples of. The history books neglect to cover those torturous executions, but the Church still holds records. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. You can imagine the difficulty of executing someone who has sway over Death. The results were nearly always… gruesome.”

My stomach lurched, and I exhaled a shaky breath. Had Bastien’s family met the same gruesome end? Was he descended from one of these Elders?

“After that, they disappeared, most going into hiding out in mortal societies. Now, here we are, a hundred and fifty years later, and the animosity towards the Reviled has only increased. Parents scare their little ones with stories of necromancers who dance with the dead, and any remaining Reviled dare not show their face, lest a mob show up at their doorstep demanding blood. It’s…archaic.”

“Then why allow it to continue?” I asked, nearly tripping over a tangle of roots as I struggled to match Cirian’s long strides. “Why not ask the Cardinal to intervene and set things right?”

Cirian glanced over his shoulder, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You think it so simple to shift the minds of thousands? Ah, but I suppose for an Adored, it would be. You can merely bend others to your will. The rest of us have to rely on subtler tactics to get what we want, Tobias.”

I bristled at the use of my actual name. It sounded strange on Cirian’s tongue. “And what is that you want, exactly?”

He halted, his shoulders slacking as he rested a hand against the trunk of a gnarled oak tree. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

I hovered a few feet away, drinking in the sadness that clung to Cirian’s words. Maybe he felt the same pressures as Lynette, being in line to inherit great power yet beholden to the expectations of those who asked you to wield it. Did the weight resting on their shoulders feel like shackles? For once, I was grateful for my lowly status as an Adored male, if only for the freedom it provided me.

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