Chapter 15 #2
There was a beauty to them, these alien characters.
The longer I watched them hover above me, the more intricate their details became.
Shapes pulsed and moved as if they were living creatures, enacting stories of times before the Expanse was created.
Primordial legends of gods and titans, painted out for me in motions of crimson lights.
But then the crimson light grew, spreading across my body like the beams of a sunrise, chasing away the evening chill. It was comforting, that precious warmth. I wanted to linger in it, but my peace was ruined by the shattering of something massive.
Sounds rushed in—the roiling of the earth under me, the frantic voices of Bastien and Azrael as they shouted too quickly for me to comprehend, a screeching, grinding noise that set my teeth on edge.
The warm, crimson light returned, and I swayed as the chains holding me fell to the floor, no longer able to support the weight of my body. Solid arms caught me, a glimpse of violet hair and a fanged smile somewhere above, telling me that I would be all right.
But how could that be? I was dying, wasn’t I?
My world had been shattered, just as the foundations of the Cradle crumbled beneath us.
Sancha was gone. Tobias had yet to awaken.
I couldn’t feel the presence of the Source’s blessing any longer.
I had disintegrated members of my own community.
Sancha may have handed her authority down to me, but no Hallowed in their right mind would follow me.
I was better off here, buried under the ruins of the very Church my actions had destroyed.
“This place will come down any second. How long till she’s back?”
Bastien’s words rang through the haze, and I struggled to lift my head to see who he was speaking to. The figure was shorter than him, their face obscured by a mask made from white and crimson porcelain. Familiarity scratched at my mind, but everything was getting fuzzy, including my thoughts.
It was nice, being held in Azrael’s arms. He was warm. So warm, it felt like I’d been draped in sun-drenched linens.
“Just a moment longer,” the masked figure answered Bastien, their deep voice impossibly clear in my ears. It was as if they were standing right beside me. “Reina is dreadfully efficient.”
Again, that voice triggered something deep in my mind. Some recognition that was clouded by the haze that plagued my senses. Did I know them?
Azrael jostled me a bit, then Bastien’s face was hovering above, twisted into all the bitter angles of concern that made my heart ache. Why did he look like that?
“He needs a healer,” Azrael’s voice rumbled against me.
“I have neither the skill nor the energy,” Bastien concluded, his frown deepening.
I wanted to comfort him. To tell him that everything would turn out all right. But my tongue was thick, and my mouth parched, and no matter how desperately I wanted to speak, I couldn’t seem to get the words through the haze that filled my mind.
“I’ll look after him,” said the third voice, that mask streaked with crimson coming into view beside Bastien. “Once we’re out of harm’s way.”
The silence that followed told me that Bastien and Azrael were not in support of that idea. Whoever this character was, it was clear that they did not have their trust.
Another tremor rumbled through the Cradle, portions of the stone above us breaking free and falling.
Bastien swore, Azrael’s muscles tensed as he judged which direction would be safest, but the stranger didn’t panic.
He merely raised a hand above his head, a flash of crimson light bursting from his fingertips as a dome of dull red light formed over us.
Massive chunks of stone crashed against the barrier, falling harmlessly around it.
“No need to fret,” the stranger iterated. “We are safe here.”
“Do you intend to lift the entire building to get us out of here?” Bastien questioned.
The stranger didn’t laugh. “If that is what is necessary, so be it.”
Perhaps it was the blood loss altering my judgment, but I believed them.
“Ah, there she is.”
At the edge of the dome, a shadow appeared in the settling dust. The red light parted around them, a short, sturdy-framed woman joining us under the stranger’s protection. Under one arm, she carried a strange wooden frame. Under the other, a large tome bound in acidic green leather.
“Wonderful work, Reina. A smashing success.”
“Aye, Sleeper,” the woman replied, approaching us with a wariness that I didn’t understand. “Are you ready to leave this place?”
Sleeper. The name broke through the haze in my mind, bringing with it the memories of the fantastical story told to us in the basement of a café and crimson red tethers connecting the minds of all who were present.
How in the name of the gods did he end up here?
“I believe we are,” the Sleeper replied, turning to address the rest of us. “Shall you be joining us?”
“It’s unlikely we have another choice,” Azrael replied.
“Splendid. Reina, dear, please go ahead and hand that compendium to our Reviled friend here. Wilhelm will be sure to appreciate its return to the proper place.”
Azrael perked up at that, craning his head to get a better look at the wooden object held by the woman. “Are these from the Church’s vault?”
“Aye,” Reina replied, handing the cumbersome book over to Bastien, who cradled it against him with what appeared to be tears welling in the corners of his eyes.
“This should be the missing puzzle to the solution I gave you when last we spoke, Seeker,” the Sleeper continued, drawing close enough to pat Bastien’s shoulder with a gloved hand. “However, this can all wait till we’re safely away from the current calamity. Reina, if you would be so kind.”
The woman handed the wooden frame over to the Sleeper, and I caught a glimpse of the rows of colorful beads suspended along the wooden dowels.
Digging in the pocket of her long coat, the woman produced a small sliver of white chalk.
Squatting down, she began to draw on the ground, forming a rectangle.
Once the shape was complete, she exhaled, long and slow, the edges of the chalk glowing with power.
She then reached down, grabbed a knob invisible to my eye, and turned it, a slab of the floor rising into the shape of a door.
The opening was completely pitch dark, but the Sleeper was the first to approach the edge of the opening, stepping one foot down into the darkness, then stopping to turn back towards us.
“Follow or remain. I’ll leave the choice to you.”
Bastien and Azrael exchanged glances.
I wanted to voice my concerns, but the edges of my vision were darkening again. It was getting more difficult to hold my eyes open with every too-slow beat of my heart. My fate would be in the hands of others, and while that should bring its own trepidation, I knew that I was in good hands.
The last thing I remembered was the sound of footsteps on wooden stairs, then nothing but crushing silence.
Pain returned with as much fanfare as my body could muster. It roused me from my slumber like a vindictive guardian, waking their adolescent progeny—with violent delight.
It radiated from three points on my body, and through the aching haze, I was able to recall the wounds that originated the agony.
Sanguine wounds. Just one could prove fatal for any Magi without treatment, and I had suffered three at the hands of the Umbral.
By all accounts, I should have already been dead.
Yet, the pain was there to prove that this was not the case.
My eyes fluttered open, blinking away stinging grit. Dim light was there to greet me, three shadows moving in the periphery, though I couldn’t quite make out their details. I jolted once more at the touch of a hand on my shoulder, a groan pouring over my lips as they prodded at the wound.
“This is the oldest. We’ll begin here. Would you be so kind as to hold him down? I cannot afford the luxury of being delicate if he’s to survive.”
More hands on my body, but these felt familiar. Bastien. And Azrael, too. The first by my head, the other holding my ankles. It was a comfort to know that they were at my side. Whatever was to come, I could bear it.
“Cirian, if you can hear me,” the voice of the Sleeper came again. “I need you to remain still as I cleanse your wounds. Can you do that for me?”
I was too weak to nod, so I blinked instead.
“Good lad. I’m going to start on the first.”
Searing heat set the flesh of my shoulder ablaze, and I couldn’t stop the scream that ripped through my chest. My limbs thrashed till Bastien and Azrael subdue them, and even then, they strained against their hold.
The pain was blinding, bright flashes of white popping into my vision as the Sleeper worked over the wound, each second of anguish pushing me closer and closer to begging for an end. Time lost all purpose, and I knew not whether it was minutes or days that I writhed against their hold.
“Can’t you go any faster?” Bastien’s voice carried over my broken whimpers.
“Have you ever cleansed a Sanguine wound, Bastien?”
“No. But the Cardinal saved me from one. She healed it in seconds.”
“Fresh wounds are one thing,” the Sleeper agreed.
“When you can get in before the particles infiltrate the bloodstream. This wound is far from fresh. The particles have rooted themselves into his veins and draw magic from the blood itself. I must remove them at the source, like pulling thousands of splinters from within.”
“What of sleeping herbs?” Azrael questioned. “Surely he doesn’t need to be awake.”
“The herbs will only speed up the spread. I am sorry, but this is the only way we can save him.”
“I-I won’t give in,” I said, managing to squeeze the words through clenched teeth.
“There’s a good lad,” the Sleeper replied, his hands not slowing through the entire conversation. “Lean on those connections, boys. They will keep you sane.”