Page 87 of The Lost Reliquary
As a rule, it’s wise to be early to a potential trap.
Better to have the chance to survey your meeting place and the best ways to escape it. So that’s what we decide on. Neither of us remembers the appointed shrine from our explorations, and when we ask a street vendor hawking smoked fish about it, he gives us a confused, suspicious look before rattling off directions.
The Shrine of the Last Tide lies near the cliffs that overlook the docks, though turned away from them, out of view. A single, narrow footpath snakes down to it, barely wide enough for one person in spots,with a sheer wall of white stone on one side and exactly nothing to prevent a fall to the crashing waves on the other. A fine, salty spray anoints us as we finally reach a wider set of stairs that descends into a sort of open cavern, with an overhang of cliff acting as a ceiling. It reminds me of the drawing Rion showed me, but there are none of the Salt devotees’ elaborate carvings here, a fact that catches in my throat like a swallowed rock, though I’m not sure why. The only decoration is tiered platforms of rock that circle a landing that slopes into the sea. Waves lap about halfway up it, around the tops of three stone posts.
“A strange sort of shrine.” Damp shadows fall across Nolan as he methodically takes in our surroundings.
“I think that’s because the only prayers said here were ones for mercy.” I point. “Look at the tide lines. And the posts.”
The sea is moving toward low tide, revealing rusted, pitted metal rings set into the stone pillars.
“Ah,” says Nolan, understanding.
There’s a tidy brutality to it. Tie the condemned up and wait for the water to rise. They’d endure hours of anticipation before the end came, torture that didn’t spill a drop of blood. I’ve always thought Tempestra-Innara was ruthless. Turns out crossing the Salt Goddess wasn’t a good idea either.
Nolan goes down to where the sloping stone begins. “Whoever sent that note has a sense of efficiency. One way down, one way up. An ideal setup if you’re planning on an ambush.”
I pick up a shard of shell and toss it into the water. “Disposing of the bodies would be a snap too.”
Nolan sighs and stares back over the waves. “No, not bothered by the possible death trap,” he mutters. “Whywouldyou be?”
Oh, I am. Because I can’t quite shake that this location is meant to convey a message. Somehow, I doubt the shrine has remained unused since the Salt Goddess’s defeat, not with its remote locale and convenient, scream-muffling waves. “Do you want to leave? While we still can?”
No answer, but the expression on his face is enough.
I sit down to wait. Nolan, on the other hand, remains standing,pacing across the space, moving close to the posts to examine them, then pacing again.
“You’re making me anxious,” I snap. “Would you please relax?”
“And be caught off guard?”
“You aren’t supposed to be worried about a threat, you’re supposed to be trying to gain trust. Which you’re not going to do walking around like a cat caught on a roof.”
Thathe considers, chewing it over for a full minute before begrudgingly joining me on the lowest stone tier. The wind picks up a bit, chilly despite the warmth of the setting sun, which has finally dropped low enough to paint the cavern in lemony light. Long shadows sprout from the stone pillars, grim fixtures to pass the time with.
“Weird to picture, isn’t it?” I lean onto my elbows. “Chain up the criminals—or blasphemers, or whoever the Salt Goddess found sufficiently irritating—and wait for the water to come back in. Do you think the crowds gathered to watch the whole thing, or only when it was almost drowning time?”
“I don’t know,” says Nolan. “It’s barbaric to make someone wait so long to die. Cruel.”
“Compared to immolation?”
“At least the flame is quick.”
“Dead either way, in the end. I guess that’s what matters.” I wonder if we are being observed. Again, I picture the crowds that must have gathered here, once, watching as death rose inch by inch. “Do you ever think about what it was like back then?”
“Back when?”
“When more than one god was still alive. Whenallthe gods were still alive.”
Nolan shrugs noncommittally. “There is only the Goddess now.”
“Yeah, but people used to be able to decide which deity to devote themselves to. If there’d been a choice… do you think you would have chosen Tempestra-Innara?”
I expect a rebuke of my near blasphemy. And it almost comes, Nolan’s features pinching in the way they do when I’ve said something particularly offensive. Then, he stops himself, eyes falling.
“I’ll admit it’s been odd,” he says finally, “seeing what goes on here. The devotions of the Salt priests. Cyprene’s carvings and sculptures. Proof of how devoted the Salt Goddess’s followers once were. I…” He stops himself again, considering his next words. “It’s heresy to worship any other god but our blood mother. But in the past, if they weren’t the only divinity I’d ever known… it would be ignorant to say I’d know for sure where my devotion would fall.”
An acerbic truth, not easily admitted. And a marker. Before the incident with the Caerula, before the beach and my realization of his true motives, would he have answered the same? No. I’m sure of it. I wonder if it’s a relief, sharing his aspiration with another, instead of staying curled around it, pushing it into the deepest part of himself.
