Page 12 of The Lost Reliquary
I felt the pull earlier than I realized. Really, within hours of leaving the land I knew behind, but it was so faint at first that I attributed it to nervousness, and later to the fact that I was trying to live on a diet of scavenged berries and bitter greens. But it grew, and I began to find myself looking backward, toward the way I’d come from. Toward the Cathedral. By the time the feeling reached an urgent sensation I simply couldn’t ignore, I understood: I’d been bound to Tempestra-Innara in more ways than one. The farther away I got from the Goddess’s light, the worse this feeling would grow. And that my blessing was more than a gift—it was a tether.
To this day, I wonder whether that test had less to do with survival than it did with the lesson I learned. Maybe I wasn’t the only Potentiate who quietly balked against the lot that had been cast for me. Or maybe it was simply a demonstration of what we’d all have to contend with eventually, when we left the bosom of Lumeris for the Orders.
I wasn’t foolish enough to ask. But it was about that time that myfantasies of deicide really began to flourish. Impossible, yes, but the last measure of satisfaction left to me. Because I finally understood that my only escape from the Goddess was that last, final escape whose procession I am now leading.
Thankfully, once we are beyond the city, we pick up the pace. A lightness takes me, still tinged with anxiety, but this is it—the beginning ofoutside. My divine shackles haven’t been struck away, but the chain holding them has been let out a bit. It is very nearly the sense of freedom.
But not. And I can’t let myself be fooled into thinking it is.
Cineris.
My first look at it is from a distance, sitting beneath a woolen ceiling of cloud that’s appropriately somber for the occassion. The journey from the Cathedral to the necropolis takes most of the day, hours that pass with nothing but prayers and wails and the growing desire to violently silence both. So, it’s a huge relief when I spot what appears to be a cluster of jagged black teeth punching up out of an unnervingly flat stretch of land.
The high, uneven walls of Cineris are obsidian dark, rough cut, and frankly unwelcoming. There is only one way in, a reinforced steel door that appears as if it would scoff at any battering ram in existence, even on its worst day. This is where the bodies of those blessed by Tempestra-Innara have been brought for centuries. It is a fortress of the dead—and a vault for the power still contained within them. Cineris doesn’t pay even a passing thought to Renderers, even if they were so foolish as to creep this close to the Goddess.
At a certain point, the Cathedral Guard stop the crowd behind us from advancing any closer. Nolan and I continue, along with the Cineri and their carts. Only the divinely blessed—dead or alive—are allowed within the walls of Cineris. Nolan and I have barely stopped when the door opens. Beyond it are more of the necropolis’s keepers, gloved hands folded in front of them. With a solemn gait, we move to either side of the entrance as, one by one, the wagons and their cargo enter. When that is complete, one figure steps forward.
“May the Flame warm you.” A masculine voice sounds from behind the mask. “Before you enter, you must prove your divinity.”
“The outfits aren’t enough?” I knew what to expect, but it comes out anyway, because I am cranky after the ride and tired of chaperoning corpses. I also know this is part of the plan, that the Cineri has been prompted to admit us. Later, two riders wearing our armor will exit and return to the Cathedral. As far as anyone knows, all remaining Cloister Potentiates will be home by tomorrow, safe and accounted for.
The masked figure twists their fingers anxiously, thrown by my response.
Nolan comes to his rescue. “Of course.” He holds up one hand and takes a breath. An instant later the flame appears—larger than any I’ve ever seen from a Potentiate, blazing nearly a foot off his palm.
“Impressive size,” I say, to exactly zero reaction. Only a sense of annoyed impatience as Nolan extinguishes the display and the Cineri turns to me. “Okay, okay. But stand back and shield your eyes.”
I hold out my hand and call. A rush of energy surges through me, every inch of my skin prickling with warmth as the light appears. What there is of it. It’s an unimpressive flicker at best, rippling over the skin of my palm. Calling the flame is one of the few areas where I never have to feign ineptitude, but lucky for me, size doesn’t matter when it comes to proving divinity.
The man moves aside. “Welcome, blood brethren.”
And with that, I enter Cineris in the last way I ever expected to: alive.
Eight
The fade is slow. But as it does for all things of bone and blood, it inevitably arrives. For flesh, though made divine, is still human. And divinity burns so brightly that to transition to a new vessel leaves the first spent. Reduced to ashes, to dust, to a memory of glory. An avatar is divine. But Tempestra, only, is eternal.
—THE WRITINGS OF HIGH CLERIC OF THE BLOOD PALDRA
BEYOND THE GATE OFCineris is a large half-moon courtyard, avenues leading off it like spokes from a wheel, long, narrow corridors of black stone. Once we are closed in, it feels almost oppressively silent, a sensation like lying inside an open grave. I immediately hate it. I’m not supposed to be here. Not yet.
“We have been prepared for you.” Our host gestures to the avenue farthest to the right as we dismount. “Rooms are waiting with your supplies. You may leave your horses here; others will be furnished when you depart in the morning.”
I start to follow.
“Wait.” Nolan removes his demon helm. “The interments. Are they taking place now?”
The Cineri nods and points. Down one of the corridors, I spot the tail end of the cart train.
“I would like to pay my respects,” he says. I want to tell him the show is over, but Nolan sounds genuinely emotional. “If that is allowed.”
“Of course,” says the voice behind the mask. “When you are ready, take the path I indicated. It will lead you to the living quarters.”
Nolan begins walking without asking if I want to join him. As if I couldn’t now, without looking like a jerk. I remove my helm and toss it to the attendant, then rush to catch up. Nolan doesn’t slow. Quietandrude, apparently.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to make sure Jeziah is really put to rest.” My words sound too loud here. “He always was a bit of a prankster.”
Nothing for the span of several more steps. Then: “I didn’t realize the Dawn Cloister had time for jokes amid their training.”
