Chapter Seventeen #2
The priest raised his arms, and the crowd settled down.
When he started talking, they hung onto his every word.
His droning voice named the saints whose relics had been brought out of the church’s vault and started recounting their tales.
Seraphina turned away, not wanting to be here anymore, a sweaty body in a mesmerized crowd.
Two years ago, she’d been up there, on the church’s steps, at Matteo’s side.
The Sarumites from Kr?henstein hadn’t descended yet, it was still hours away from vespers, but she wanted to make sure when Headmaster Wolff appeared with his cohort of erudites and disciples, she would be far away.
It would be too much for her. It would crush her to stand here, across from her fellow Sarumites, like she was no one, just a gaping mouth in a flock of sheep.
“The table where the relics are displayed in glass boxes,” Rune said suddenly, excitement in his voice. “There’s a lattice pinned to the tablecloth.”
“For protection,” Seraphina said. “There are lattices everywhere today, if you look closely.” Not something she could do anymore.
Rune’s grip was firm on her wrist, worried about losing her.
She felt him stretch himself to see over people’s heads.
Though she wanted to leave, she waited, allowing him to take in the scene.
It seemed like this was his first All Hollows’ Eve celebration, though they were held in all cities, big and small, and even in villages, as long as there was a church that held relics under its roof.
The table in front of the Church of Our Lady was long enough to fit all displays coming from the other churches, and in the middle, she knew there was generous space left for the academy relic.
Pinned to the tablecloth was a Liminal Tape, a lattice creating a circuit around the display area, with bone fragments visible as pale dots every few inches along the tape.
It used a cross-stitch pattern, common for boundary work, when the purpose was for the lattice to create an aversive field.
People would step closer, but every time they reached to touch what was on the table, they would feel repelled, filled with a sense of “wrong”, and “don’t touch that, or else”.
Similar to the instinct that kicked in when one’s fingers hovered close to a hot stove.
The priests wore Liminal Tapes pinned to their vestments as well. The parishioners could get handsy on a day like this, eager to receive their blessings.
Watchmen stood guard in high numbers, alert, eyeing the crowds, patrolling at the edges.
If anyone made a suspicious move, they would be on top of them in seconds.
Not that any evildoer was as insane as to try and steal relics during a procession like this, when warding lattices dripped from every surface around the relic displays, guards wore Wards of Rebound under their uniforms, and the priests themselves most likely wore a small relic in a piece of jewelry in case of an attempted attack.
“That woman,” Rune said, breathless, pointing to their right. “She’s wearing a Charm Veil.”
Seraphina tugged his arm down.
“Don’t point,” she said.
“That’s a class C civilian lattice, but still... To wear it in such an obvious manner?”
“If someone owns a civilian lattice, they will wear it on days like this, when relics are brought into the open. The Church and the Sarumite Order want to remind the people that relics are woven into the fabric of our world, that they’re as real as the air we breathe, even if most commoners will never touch one or feel its power.
So, those who can afford civilian lattices will wear them openly to show that they belong, and also to look down on those who can’t buy a single bone shard, let alone a cluster of them. ”
“The Charm Veil softens first impressions, makes one seem affable,” Rune said. “It’s a form of subtle manipulation.”
“Until the person wearing it falls to anger or launches into obvious flattery,” Seraphina provided. “Every lattice has a weakness, especially classes C and D.”
It was refreshing to talk to someone about what had constituted her work and vocation for the better part of her life.
Rune recognized lattices from a distance, something only an experienced weaver was capable of.
It hurt that she couldn’t see them anymore – the patterns, the stitchwork, how the bone shards fit together.
It had been a game she and Matteo had played often when they emerged from behind the academy walls on Sundays for a stroll in the city and tried to spot lattices. Whoever spotted the most, won.
“That’s a Hearthband,” Rune said.
“Class D. It only affects the wearer.”
“Another Hearthband.”
“Well, it’s cold, a lot of people will wear them.”
Hearthbands were usually worn attached to belts or pinned to shawls. They made cold and dampness feel less uncomfortable, but it was only perceptual. They couldn’t prevent frostbite if the wearer stubbornly sat in the freezing cold thinking the lattice would make them immune.
“And that’s a–”
“Rune.” She tugged her wrist free of his grip and clutched at his sleeve instead. “Stop pointing.”
“Sorry.”
It wasn’t that, if she were to be honest. This was hers and Matteo’s game, and it felt inappropriate in a way she couldn’t explain to be playing it with someone else.
Rune had initiated it, and it grated on her that he’d done it so casually, like it was a normal thing people did to amuse themselves.
To pass the time spotting and counting lattices.
Seraphina’s mood changed in a heartbeat.
She felt a chill spread through her bones, and the tiny hairs on her arms stood on end under her too big cloak.
At first, she thought it was because of Rune, but he was innocent.
He didn’t know what he was doing. It was just that while he recognized lattices like it was nothing, he still didn’t know anything about relics and the bits of bone lattices were made of, which reminded her that he was an unsolved mystery.
A man who made no sense. He could describe highly specialized things while having zero foundational knowledge.
But then she felt a tickling sensation slither up her nape under the large hood, and knew she was being watched.
“I know where we can find food.”
She pulled at Rune’s sleeve, and he followed her through the crowd until they emerged into a street that wasn’t as busy.
She walked quickly, keeping her head down and never letting go of his sleeve.
It felt like she was dragging a big, clumsy child who couldn’t be trusted to walk on his own.
She didn’t care what it looked like from the outside, because all she wanted was to get rid of the slithering feeling of being stalked.
It could’ve been a watchman who’d recognized her from the description, or a vigilant do-gooder.
She wasn’t going to stick around and find out.
Seraphina took a left, then another left, and straight ahead, there was Saint Maurice’s Church, which was blessedly quiet since everyone was gathered at the Church of Our Lady. They went around the building and entered the old churchyard.
An entire generation had passed since anyone was buried in Saint Maurice’s churchyard.
The practice of burying the dead within city walls had been banned three decades before on grounds of poisonous exhalations, but the old graves and monuments remained, and on All Hallows’ Eve, people visited to light candles and leave food for their dearly departed.
“Oh,” Rune exhaled.
Seraphina grinned and turned her head to the right, then to the left, to see if there were any dark shadows moving between the graves.
She sensed there was someone coming down an adjacent alley, and she ducked behind a row of monuments and pulled Rune with her.
She led them deeper into the churchyard, until she was certain that if they kept low, no one would spot them.
“There’s food,” Rune said with disbelief.
“Yes, and plenty of it, too. See if you can find some pastries.”
She sniffed the air, trying to find them herself.
It was a bit harder for her, seeing how her relic wasn’t exactly made to find food in the dark, but to appreciate the distance between objects and show her moving shadows, but Seraphina managed to get her hands on a loaf of bread that wasn’t even that stale, and a bowl that contained three apples.
Rune was a few graves away. When she tilted her head toward him, she had the impression that he was filling his pockets.
She moved to another gravestone and felt around. Her fingers encountered a bottle, and when she tapped on it, she found it full. She uncorked it and smelled wine. Seraphina could dance with joy.
“Look what I found,” she said at the same time he did.
Rune was stunned by the synchronization, but she laughed, and after a few seconds, he joined in.
“Wine,” she said.
“Sweet bread and... these rolls.”
“Give me.”
Seraphina held out her hands, and Rune passed her two small paper packages.
She set them down on a memorial stone and unwrapped them, gently exploring the offerings with the very tips of her fingers.
The smell of butter and honey assaulted her, and she licked her lips, her mouth filling with saliva.
A groan vibrated in her throat, and she hadn’t even tasted them yet.
“Are they good?” Rune asked, swallowing heavily.
“Soul rolls and braided sweet bread,” she said. “Fresh, too. They should be delicious.”
“So, I did good?”
Her heart skipped a beat. She craned her neck to position the relic in his general direction and noticed he was standing a few feet away, unmoving, looking at her with anticipation. Was his anticipation for the pastries or for her answer?
“Yes, you did so good. Come on.” She patted the spot beside her. “Let’s eat.”
They sat with their knees in the dirt, and Seraphina split the bounty in two.
They shared the wine, taking turns sipping from the bottle, and it struck her that she was tasting his lips, and he was tasting hers.
No, that was just her mind getting ahead of itself.
They were drinking from the same bottle, that was all, and it didn’t mean anything.
Still, she felt herself blush. It was the alcohol and nothing else.
Their fingers were sticky with honey, their tastebuds were lavished with milk and butter.
“Should I find more?”
“Yes–”
The grand bell at the Church of Our Lady rang, and the smaller bells in the city responded.
Was it vespers already? Seraphina couldn’t tell if the sky had darkened.
She shook herself and focused on the task at hand.
There were more pastries in this churchyard, and she and Rune were going to find them all.
“Witness and believe!”
The voice propagated over the rooftops of Ingolstadt like a wave rolling down from the clouds. The headstones quivered and the earth beneath Seraphina’s knees shuddered. She dug her fingernails into her palms as she felt the voice penetrate her flesh and rattle her very organs.
“What was that?” Rune whispered so feebly that Seraphina barely heard him.
“Behold and tremble!”
Another wave. Seraphina gripped her stomach, certain her insides had shifted.
“That is the Voice of God.”