Page 39 of The Lost Reliquary
The Endless Storm is their promise to return.
—VILLAGER, NAME FORGOTTEN
WE WATCHED AN OPERAtroupe perform in Lumeris once. It was a rare treat, a lesson in the arts. I remember how grandiose the story was, the ridiculous events piling atop one another, until the whole thing toppled like a cake with too many tiers. But of course, a toppled cake is still cake, so it all worked out swimmingly in the end. I can’t help but be reminded of it as Avery and I ride. Me, a Potentiate of the Goddess, tasked to find heretics and bring them to justice. Avery, a heretic costumed as a devoted cleric, plotting against the very deity he’s pretending to serve. Both of us with the same deicidal goal.
Surely the right composer could put that to song.
But that shared objective doesn’t make us allies. Sure, I could reveal who I am, what I overheard, try to join forces with my new friend.
And then I could ride right back to Belspire and confess my sins to Caius.
Not going to happen. Whatever kind of opportunity this is, I’ll bide my time in figuring it out.
Luckily, Avery likes to chat. You wouldn’t think it of a secret heretic, but he clearly has a cleric’s gift for gab, and the sort of personality thatcan walk into even the most unwelcoming place and find a seat at a table before the sun sets.
“—but of course, this far north, you can’t get fresh swordfish, only the dried or salted sort, which isn’t really any good at all. Except for stews. It makes a half-decent stew, especially if you can find some abalone to go along with it.”
“So, you’re from the southern coasts?” If his complexion hadn’t tipped me off, his culinary preferences certainly would have.
“Guilty,” he replies. “Have you been?”
“?’Fraid not. They need bodyguards down there?”
“I’m sure there are ships or caravans that could use a good sword, er, sickle from time to time. There are pirates in the deeper waters. They hide out on the little unpopulated islands where they’re hard to reach, though I can’t claim to have ever run afoul of them.”
“What brought you this far north?” I venture. “Clearly it wasn’t our fish.”
Avery chuckles. “No, definitely not. I spend most of my time in the south, but my Order encourages a pilgrimage to the Cathedral at least once in a while. I’m on my way back from that, albeit along a winding, scenic route.”
The Cathedral. Could Avery have been at the execution? Not inside, clearly, since he’s still alive, but maybe the heretics had other spies around, waiting to see how their assassination played out. “I heard about the massacre that happened, during that execution. Were you…?”
“No.” The word is quiet, soft. “I’d come and gone before that. But the tragedy… what a horrific loss of life.” There’s genuine sadness in his voice.
“Yes, it was,” I say, expecting Avery to continue.
He doesn’t. Maybe he and his friends hadn’t considered what Tempestra-Innara might do to hide their vulnerability.
It’s slow going, two on a horse, and we don’t make it far before the sun begins to drag low in the sky. But the decrepit forest has thinned, finally giving way to verdant fields peppered with wildflowers and stands of young trees. We make camp in a copse, where Avery gets towork immediately, pouring water from a skin into a small cooking pot and filling it with a porridge made from dried grains, beans, and bits of meat. I take care of the horse, wishing it was Mortimer as Avery stirs the food almost lovingly, chattering about a village he visited a few weeks ago and their generous gift of supplies.
“It’s almost as if they knew I’d need to feed more mouths than my own.” He takes a spoonful and blows on it before tasting, then adds a bit of seasoning.
“Must be one of those blessings from the Goddess I hear so much about,” I say.
“They provide for those who do their work.”
He lies so sincerely. I almost wish I could tell him how impressed I am. Few would suspect a cleric turning on the Goddess, fewer still one such as him.
“After Galeas will you head back south?” I join him by the fire, already aware that he’s got his orders from Novena, but the lies are entertaining, and one way to pass the time.
He shrugs, handing me a bowl of his creation. He has only one set of utensils and graciously gives me the spoon while he makes do with a fork. Fortunately, the stew is hearty enough to be eaten with either. “A wandering cleric rarely goes where they want. Instead we go where we are needed, which might change from day to day.” He pauses, smiling. “Today you need me. Tomorrow?”
Tomorrow you’ll head straight for your fellow heretics.I smile back, chewing thoughtfully. It’s not the fare that came out of Belspire’s fancy kitchens, but it’s better than what Nolan managed over a campfire. Even the thought of him doesn’t dampen the flavor.
“I see your wanderings have taught you a thing or two about cooking. This is really good.”
He smiles, genuinely pleased by the compliment. “Thank you. My duty is to teach the will of our Goddess, but I learn too. I’ve managed a particularly extensive study of regional porridges and stews.”
“What else do you pick up on your travels?” A talker will talk, sometimes saying more than they intend to, so I’m happy to keep our conversation rolling.
