Page 10 of The Lost Reliquary
Fuck it.
I go ahead of him with a haste that I’m sure makes Prior Petronilla proud, letting the darkness swallow me. I hear Nolan follow. He’s savvy enough in the dark to make his way to one side of me, the sound of his breathing the only orientation I have.
Again, the door creaks, and what’s left of the light disappears as it closes behind us.
Six
No, we don’t render aid, more than a bit of water, and I’d call even that an indulgence. If they are strong, our mother has chosen well, and they will survive. If not, they are weak, and have no place among us.
—FROM THE PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE OF PRIOR GREIN (DUSK CLOISTER) TO PRIOR ILUA (DAWN CLOISTER)
DIVINITY CAME IN THEdrowning deluge of a thin trickle. The moment it touched my lips, it surged into my base, human blood, blazing through my veins, leaving not a single corner of my flesh unchanged. And like a wildfire, it did its godsdamned best to destroy me. Being chosen wasn’t a guarantee of elevation—there was also the trivial part about actually surviving the Goddess’s gift, a trial no one bothered to warn of beforehand.
But I survived, waking to a feeling not unlike what I experience in the pure blackness of the Goddess’s secret mystery chamber. Their presence saturates the air, turning the darkness into something almost alive, seething with power. It is disorienting, upending—only the sense of solid stone below my feet and the vague presence of Nolan keeps me grounded.
Then, light. Lamps, hundreds of them, ignite, their combined flickers sun-strong as they illuminate the chamber—round, domed, andlarger than expected. Also, empty, save for a single pedestal in the center. On it sits the fanciest bottle I’ve ever seen, clear glass veined with delicate whorls of gold, and a stopper that appears to be a single ruby cut into the shape of a flame. No, not glass—rock crystal, utterly flawless. It’s small, the sort of vessel that might hold perfume or scented oil, but I doubt the Goddess has dragged us all the way down here to show off their signature scent. Especially since the liquid it contains is a deep, vibrant red.
“There are secrets best kept hidden,” Tempestra-Innara says, gliding over to the pillar, “and pieces of the past better off forgotten.”
Oh, good. Another useless “explanation.”
The Goddess picks up the bottle and it begins to glow, a cool, diffuse light that leaves no doubt that its source is rooted in the divine. But it isn’t until the Goddess plucks the ruby free that I begin to understand.
Blood sings to blood.
“This, my children,” they continue, complexion cooled by the otherworldly illumination, “is a reliquary.” They speak the word with a mix of reverence and apprehension. “An ancient vessel created specifically for the blood of a divinity—myblood. A rarity now, but once quite numerous, long ago when my siblings still walked this land.”
That gets my attention. Speaking of the old gods, except in regards to their defeat, isn’t the usual casual conversation. And never once have I heard Tempestra-Innara bring them up. The last, Arcadius-Viktori, the Green God, was defeated by the Goddess over a century ago, in a battle that leveled the god’s temple and most of the city around it, and whose ruins remain extremelyruinedeven now.
Tempestra-Innara returns the stopper to the bottle and the bottle to the pedestal. As soon as they release it, the glow fades. “We spread our blessings foolishly in those days, sending our reliquaries far and wide to share our gift. Unfortunately, there were those that saw that generosity as something to take advantage of, and consequences that we did not consider. Even after we became more… judicious in our gifts, divine blood was no longer the only coveted rarity. As you know, divinity does not fade with the death of the body. And there are some that practice a most vile form of heresy.”
They don’t say the word aloud: Renderers. I know all about those. It’s practically a time-honored tradition for the older Potentiates to threaten the younger with giving them over to the Renderers. Hunters of the living blessed. Scavengers of the divine dead. A length of old bone, a flap of desiccated skin, coveted fresh blood—all rendered into concoctions that impart a taste of godliness to anyone willing to pay the price. Never mind that the effects are temporary, and punishable by things much less appealing than death.
“Our gift was not meant to fall into unworthy hands.” The Goddess turns grim as they continue their increasingly opaque explanation. “I’d thought them all found, destroyed. It seems I was wrong.” They reach out again, one finger caressing the crystal reliquary. “What power remains in the body of a god’s Chosen is less than what they were gifted. And a vacated avatar is reduced to nothing more than ash by the changing. But it is not the same for the pure, collected blood of a living divinity. And while the blood does change when its god dies—decays in its own way—the raw power remains. Do you understand?”
Finally, enough points for me to draw the lines between. So that’s how Emmaus nearly felled a goddess—takes one to kill one. Somehow, he got his hands on a reliquary, hid some blood in his reverie, and waited until he was within striking distance to chug it. My stomach tightens with disappointment.
“But…” I surprise myself by speaking, a papery whisper nearly lost in the expanse of the chamber. “What it did to him…”
Tempestra-Innara nods, mistaking my distress for horror. “Not all survive the gift of divinity when it is given true. Even less so when it is… polluted. But despite the corruption, it is still a powerful weapon. I suspect Emmaus fully knew what he was committing to, and that he did not expect to survive his act. I also suspect the power overwhelmed him faster than he thought it would. But though Emmaus was too weak to see the deed through,” the Goddess finishes, “that does not mean the next assassin will be.”
A shiver runs through me.Weak.With that one word the Goddess reignites my hope.
I start to speak again and stop, frozen by a new sight. A blossom ofred has appeared on the Goddess’s white gown, above one breast. As I watch, it spreads. From the slight tensing of the air beside me, I know Nolan has noticed it too.
Tempestra-Innara follows my gaze and lets out a small noise of annoyance. “It is a particularly wicked heresy to use such a foul weapon to strike. And yet, its damage is potent, and lingers.” They raise a hand over the patch of blood. When it drops again, the stain is gone. “My children, as long as our enemies have the reliquary, they are a greater threat than ever before. But they will be wary now, keep it well hidden. Armies could tear apart the lands for years and find nothing. And so, instead of blades and bludgeons, I will send you.”
For a moment, there’s silence. Then Nolan shifts beside me and clears his throat, the most liveliness he’s shown since arriving.
“Forgive me, Mother.” He’s almost sickeningly deferential. “But why us? You have many more experienced children.”
“Whose name and faces may be known by our enemies,” the Goddess replies. “As Potentiates, you are unfamiliar, and your youth means your gifts are still in their prime. Furthermore, you’ve both seen the tainted blood’s power, fought against it, and survived. There is no one better suited to this task. So even though you would normally be rivals to become Executrix, I ask you to work together on this, as family.” Tempestra-Innara moves closer to us, so close that their divine power is an engulfing bonfire. “Find the reliquary. Return it here, to me. It is a test that would prove either of you more than worthy, and a more consequential duty than any I have ever asked of my children before.”
“Yes,” Nolan says with urgent, devoted passion. “Whatever you wish, Mother.”
“Whatever you wish,” I echo. And it’s actually the truth. The opium smoke of the Goddess’s divinity has me ready to hunt, to kill, to stand on my head and recite dirty limericks if that would earn me more of their favor. I take a gulp of air, thick as syrup, trying to settle the yearning ache for more, more, more of them. At least that cursed desire muddies the profound giddiness growing beneath it.
Emmaus might have been weak, butIam not.Ihave already survived the divine gift. And Tempestra-Innara has just asked me to trackdown the one weapon I need to finally free myself from this drowning servitude.
