Page 40 of The Lost Reliquary
He thinks. “I’ve learned to sleep on the ground to start. And I’ve learned just because you can’t see the bugs in the mattress, it doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”
Great, now I’m going to worry about mattress bugs. “Here’s a better question: Why did you choose to serve the Goddess?”
“Weallserve the Goddess.”
Not even a hint of hesitation.
“Of course.” I keep my voice light. “But not like you do. What made you want to enter the kind of service where you get to sleep on the ground, curled up with bugs?”
His gaze drops to the coals, which glow with a velvet heat that almost looks divine. “That’s not much of a story. I was an orphan,” he says, “living on the streets until I was taken in by a kind merchant. He was also a scholar of sorts, with an impressive collection of clerical texts. His influence inspired me to join the clergy, when I was old enough.”
How utterly normal.
“I hope to repay his kindness through service,” he finishes.
“Seems like you’re doing a good job so far.” I scrape my bowl, the last mouthful of food helping me swallow what I’m really thinking: that being a conspirator in the worst heresy in living memory is a strange way to cover that debt.
I keep watch most of the night, then catch a few hours of sleep once dawn rolls in. Another delicious porridge greets me when I wake, this one dotted with bits of dried fruit and touched with maple sugar. One could almost feel guilty, deceiving Avery while he’s being so kind. But he’s deceiving me as well, so maybe it’s an even trade.
Another day passes (too slowly) as we plod our way toward Galeas. Avery talks more often than not, but about nothing, innocuous topics like farming communities and the best times of the year to travel to certain areas. Even after the long hours, he’s easier to chat with than I would have expected, but no matter how I try to nudge our conversation in a useful manner, I don’t learn anything helpful.
This is the last day. Either he gives up some good information ortomorrow I take his horse and go. I don’t feel guilty about that. Clerics are used to walking. He’ll be fine.
“Tell me about the southern ports,” I ask after we’ve made camp, the touch of early dusk glazing the forest surrounding us. It’s not a clever prompt, but it’s something. “Maybe once I get back on my feet I’ll head that way.”
Avery nods approvingly. “They’re beautiful,” he says. “Well, the ocean more than the ports themselves. Blue waters, breezes that smell like salt and flowers at the same time. The winters are cold, but not like they are up here, where you can freeze to death too easily.”
“Yeah, seen a few cleric-sicles in my time.”
He appears vaguely horrified at that. Which gives me an idea. I’ve been asking questions about his travels, his life, and offering lies in return. Maybe a sprinkle of truth is the way to go.
“I grew up in a mountain village,” I explain. “There were always a few that didn’t have the sense to know when a storm was coming.”
“Ah. That must have been upsetting to see.”
I snort derisively. “No… well, a little. I used to think they were mad, though, to die in such a silly way. And all to spread a divine word we’d already heard before. You’d think they’d want tolivefor the Goddess. Not die for them.”
Avery is thoughtfully quiet for a few heartbeats. “It’s an honor to die in service to the Goddess. Though I’d like to think the Goddess is kind and merciful enough not to desire a pointless demise.”
My mouth tastes sour all of a sudden. And when I tap the spoon against the wood of the bowl, it sounds too much like cracking. I set the food down.
Avery’s brow knits. “Are you okay?”
No. I feel angry and frustrated. And cold. “Just remembering those frozen clerics. And… I came through Belspire before you found me. They burned a heretic there recently.” A lump forms in my throat. “It was ugly, more than it needed to be. A violent death that seemed pretty pointless to me. Sometimes… I wonder if the Goddess even cares.”
Avery blinks at me across the fire. Interrogation might not be my specialty, but I know a little something about blasphemy.
“The flame is the punishment for heresy.” Avery speaks in a carefully neutral timbre, giving away none of his thoughts.
“I know, but…” The fire snaps. Cracks. I lean closer, feeling its warmth on my cheeks. It doesn’t reach any deeper than that. The Goddess, Caius, Nolan… the lives they took—or tried to take, in Nolan’s case—meant nothing. And yet, each one was, in its own way, an act of piety. Of faith, that beautifully cultivated fruit that too often turns out to be poisonous to those who devote themselves to it. Or get fed it by force. That thought burns a hole in my gut, but I shrug noncommittally. “Maybe. I don’t know. After all, what would I understand about the intricacies of the Goddess’s ways? I’m no cleric.”
“You have misgivings, though?” Each word takes its time, doesn’t push. “You have doubts about the ways of the Goddess?”
Doubts? I swallow a chuckle. “Doubts” sound like tiny things—inconsequential, instead of the difference between alive and extra crispy. But asking a heretic—even one wearing the mask of a cleric—to explain the Goddess’s reasonings is futile. I know those rote answers by heart already. I’ve heard them all from people who actuallybelievethem. So why did I open this door in the first place? I try to think of the right thing to say, the words that will confirm my devotion while also drawing some intel from Avery. But whatever they are, they give way to something else. “I heard a story once… about a village of heretics that the Goddess’s forces… converted.”
At first, that’s all I can get out. Avery puts his food down, waiting patiently for me to continue.
Which I shouldn’t, but I do.
