Chapter 17
Back home, Liane had loved discovering hidden passages and forgotten corners of the ancient structures.
She’d enjoyed unraveling a mystery. But rather than examine what Erich had told her, she spent her days exploring the temple grounds—the halls, towers, and sanctuaries—three times, seeking distraction from her storm cloud of thoughts.
Could she trust the Avatheos’ intentions?
The best way to get answers would be to ask the Avatheos himself.
But during their increasingly frequent meetings, he’d evaded her questions until he started snapping at her to study the text and meditate to better understand Cyra’s will.
Liane tried to accept the church’s truth. But her doubts were piling up.
Those questions drove her to the library, where she pulled down a multitude of books.
They kept records of almost everything. They charted the stars’ movements, deaths, and births of the nobility and royal family, but records of the past lives of priests and priestesses were murky at best. Oracles’ prophecies were almost never recorded, but in a few cases, she found old journals belonging to priests long dead.
If the Avatheos had seen a dire prophecy for the kingdom, surely, he must have told someone.
Or recorded it somewhere. Or someone else had seen as he had.
But she could find no evidence of it. That didn’t necessarily mean he was lying, but it didn’t prove his intentions either.
* * *
After days of fruitless search, she was back in the library again.
Words were swirling around in her mind, and she wondered if she’d ever be without questions lingering at the back of her mind.
There were only three archivists working, while dozens of other desks lay empty.
The archivists recorded all the portent star movements and sent out messages to the regional dukes and vice premiers with instructions or warnings.
The ceilings were high and vaulted, and the bookcases that lined the room reached from floor to ceiling.
Ladders leaned against them, and a few late-night working priests pushed carts, returning tomes to their places on the shelves.
She strolled along the aisles, and the familiar scent of ink and paper comforted her.
Liane ran her hands down the spines, surveying titles.
They were mostly theological texts debating the intricacies of religious dogma—the types of books the goddess’ chosen should gravitate toward.
But she was sure that if she even attempted to read them, she’d be snoring in minutes.
She turned a corner and found an aisle of books with dates printed on the spines.
When she pulled down a book at random, she discovered it was a history of Neolyra from a few years after the Corruption.
So much had been lost after the Corruption, but perhaps not everything.
The Nameless had caused it, and according to the Avatheos, she was trying again.
But maybe it hadn’t been the first time.
And if that were true, there’d be some record of it, surely.
Perhaps there even were other avatars before her who’d fought back the darkness.
Maybe that would assure her the Avatheos wasn’t using her, that she was destined for something greater and not a pawn in a political game.
Liane went to the desk where an archivist was scribbling on a piece of paper. They looked up as she approached.
“Are there any books I might read on past avatars?” Liane asked.
The archivist paused a moment. “I can look. But I’m not sure I’ve heard of another one before you?”
“Nothing? What about the rise of the Nameless?” she asked.
They frowned at her and said, “Why would you want to read about that?”
It would be blasphemous to say she wanted to prove the Avatheos’ prophecy was true and not an elaborate manipulation meant to entrap her. Plus, she doubted there were books like that. “What about books on Neolyra’s history?”
They sighed. “What era?”
“All of them since the Corruption?” she asked, tone rising with uncertainty.
“Take a seat, and I’ll bring you what I have.” They waved her away impatiently.
Liane thanked them and wandered over to sit down at one of the desks. The last rays of light from the day were falling through the window, and she had a view of the city beyond. Golden-red light warmed her skin and made her back tingle pleasantly.
A few minutes after she’d sat down, three priests and an acolyte brought over towering stacks of books.
They set them down on the table around her with loud thumps.
She looked up at them all realizing what a daunting task she’d set out to accomplish.
But she needed to prove to herself that Erich was wrong.
She picked up a book at random and started reading, but it quickly became apparent that this book was a dry account of wars fought and won after the Corruption.
There was nothing about the church. No problem.
She skimmed over the titles, searching for books that mentioned the church’s history.
She pulled out three more books from the stack, only to be met with the same problem.
None of the books gave an unbiased history, but were rather full of theological allegory—the same stories she’d been hearing her entire life.
She sighed and closed the last book, setting it atop her teetering pile of rejects.
She was ready to give up when she noticed a book at the bottom of the pile.
It was titled Lyra: Before the Creation of Neolyra and the History of the Ancients.
It was much older than the others, and the author’s name had nearly faded away.
Touching the book gave her pause. It sent a jolt up her arm. On the cover were illustrations of the two-toned stag and the black raven she’d seen in her visions. She remembered a similar book she’d read back in Artria and was immediately intrigued.
She cracked it open, and the pages were brittle. This didn’t seem like the sort of book she should be reading. It felt more like a book that should be locked in some scholar’s private study and only looked at and never touched.
She glanced around the room at the archivists who’d delivered the books and saw they were preoccupied. She was turning the pages when she saw a page with a golden sword crossed with a black blade.
Two swords for two sisters. Divided, they fight. Together, they strike. Liane frowned.
She turned the page, expecting to find more, but instead discovered a drawing of Cyra standing in front of the blazing sun, a black raven on her shoulder. On the next page was a woman veiled in black, her pose the mirror of Cyra’s, and coiled around her shoulders was a white dragon.
Liane’s fingers traced over the dragon.
She flipped a few more pages. The dragonborn, beloved of the Moon Goddess’ and protector of her temples. She recoiled. Then the Avatheos was right. Erich was an agent of the darkness, just like the elves...
With it written on the page in front of her, the truth was apparent.
Erich was the antithesis to her. She turned a few more pages, but they were illegible.
She could only pick up a word in three beneath the scorch marks.
She scanned the rest of the book, hoping to find something different, something that didn’t confirm her worst suspicions.
Liane rubbed her temples, shaken by what she’d learned. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. She’d known being drawn to him was wrong, and yet a small part of her held onto the hope that he could be redeemed, but this book proved otherwise.
One of the priests who’d delivered the books came back over.
“Forgive me, your divinity. I think I misplaced one of my books in your stack.” He reached for the book she’d been reading.
She handed it back reluctantly. “It looks interesting. I’ve never seen mention of Moon Goddess before.”
“It’s a heretical book that belongs to the moon cult, one of the few that survived the fires that burned the library during the Corruption. It’s very fragile and not meant for anyone to read.”
The sword in her back throbbed as if asking her to give it a second look. But she’d gotten her answers, hadn’t she? He belonged to the Nameless, she to Cyra.
With nothing left to learn, Liane began to retreat from the library, but her skin was prickling with anxiety.
She watched as the priest carried the book to the back of the library, toward a metal cage that bisected the library.
The temple in Artria had one similar. She turned to leave and nearly collided with Ludwig.
“You’re plotting something,” he said.
“I was reading in the library.”
“And eyeing that locked cage.”
She shrugged.
“What are you trying to find out?”
“Nothing. I got my answers.” She headed out of the library, but as she did, a hooded priestess stepped into her path.
“Your grace, did you see the book I left you?” Sylvie asked.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
“Which book?” Liane asked.
She lowered her head guiltily. “I heard you’ve been asking questions about the church’s history. And I thought you’d appreciate reading something that hasn’t been heavily censored.”
“That was kind of you.” Liane tried to muster a smile. Sylvie was innocent and couldn’t have known that she’d closed the door on Liane and Erich’s relationship for good.
Liane began to walk past her when Sylvie grasped hold of her sleeve. She turned to look at her.
“If I might be so bold, your divinity. I have a favor to ask of you.”
People wanted blessings from her, or begged for miracles, but she always turned them down. Apart from the spectacles the Avatheos made her participate in, Liane couldn’t do much for the people who were seeking a miracle.
“If I can help, I will,” Liane said.
Sylvie rolled up her sleeve and revealed black veins spreading over her arm, crawling up toward her shoulder.
“I’m corrupted. Technically, all initiates are until we’ve been purified.
But they don’t think I’ll last until the equinox.
It’s why I wanted to meet you so badly. I thought maybe you’d be able to help me. ”
Liane grabbed her by her elbow, pulling her into an empty alcove. Ludwig turned his back to them, watching the hall to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard.
“How long have you been withering? We should take you to see the Avatheos and have him heal you,” Liane said.
Sylvie shook her head. “I was born with it. We all are, those of us with magic. He can’t heal me, no one here knows how.
Maybe a long time ago, before the corruption.
But no one has the power now. We know medicinal herbs and small magics, but nothing for this.
Only going into the water can save me, or so they say.
But some don’t make it out of there either.
They drown or who knows what.” She wrapped her arms around herself.
“By ‘the water,’ you mean the source?”
Sylvie nodded.
“Then why not go into the water?”
“I haven’t been found worthy enough yet. We are all like this. Most don’t progress this far before they take their final test. I guess I’m one of the unfortunate ones.”
Liane’s head was spinning. “If everyone is corrupted before they’re purified…” She didn’t know how to wrap her head around this information.
“That’s how we’re selected for service. Some mark or indication that we’ve got magic in our veins. We’re trained in how best to use it. Some excel and others, like me, well, the marks start forming, and we don’t always survive…”
Liane thought she was going to be sick. Her head was spinning, and Erich’s words were echoing in her head. But he was the enemy, wasn’t he?
“Maybe my unwillingness to die proves how unworthy I am, but I just can’t...”
“You cannot die, Sylvie. I won’t let you. What can I do?”
Sylvie wrung her hands and shifted from foot to foot. “I know it’s presumptuous to ask the goddess’ chosen, but I found an old spell with a ritual that could cure me. I’m not strong enough. But you might be.” She held out a weathered old book.
Liane took it in trembling hands. She still didn’t know how to use her magic.
But if she were the goddess’ chosen, then it should be possible, shouldn’t it?
The Avatheos had said so, and she’d revived that bird.
Sylvie was a lot bigger than a bird, though.
There was no choice, really; she had to try.
“I’ll help you.”