Chapter 15
“Ithought I warned you about sneaking around, Cassian,” Edda said sternly, her group flanking Lesya, Cassian, and Freya. “What if one of my men had attacked you, thinking you were an intruder?”
“I’m just sticking to protocol here, Edda,” Cassian said, hands raised. She searched him. Then she walked up to Lesya, gave her a once over, and patted her down.
“This is the Death Shepherd?” Edda asked, raising an eyebrow at Lesya. “Got to say, I expected someone with a little more…oomph.”
“I forgot my high heels and black lipstick at my dorm,” Lesya said.
“You’re funny,” Edda said mirthlessly. Then, sternly at Cassian, “Come along now, the Grath Nomad is waiting.”
Lesya followed the procession toward the town hall. She looked down the massive crater and felt dizzy. At the bottom, workers were digging something. She could see the remote outline of a statue head. The rest of the statue was submerged in water and dirt.
“Who did this? I mean, buried the temple this far down?”
“All of this,” Edda said, waving at the ruins of the town, “was done by the Solignis Covenant during the first Necromancy War. This was the last battlefield of the previous war. It was here that Mortandagh was impaled by the spear by Eldric Solwyn. But Eldric didn’t stop there.
After Mortandagh fled, Eldric, using his newfound power as the scion or champion or whatever he calls himself… ”
“Wait. Let’s get it right, shall we?” one of the Deathless said from behind Lesya. He’d been listening intently. “It’s Elias who’s supposed to be the champion of Sol. It’s Eldric who calls himself the scion of Sol. Yes?”
“Yes, but what difference that does make? Scion, champion, prophet, whatever,” Edda said impatiently. “They all serve Sol. And Sol’s decree is to burn our temples, destroy our places of worship, erase our history, tear our books.”
Lesya found it incredible that these people, who were known as the Deathless to the rest of Aladria, were so normal. Not like the bloodthirsty psychopaths that they’d been depicted.
“He buried this one deep down,” Edda said, “as a challenge. As a way of saying, let’s see if you have the balls to uncover it.”
“Clearly you do,” Lesya chuckled. To her surprise, others around her joined in her laughter.
“If you’re with us when it’s finally uncovered, you’ll see just how beautiful and powerful it is,” Edda said, climbing the steps of the town hall.
Cassian held his hand out.
Lesya stood contemplating for a good minute before she finally took his hand. She still did not trust him, but it would have seemed awkward if he’d just stood there with his hand held out.
I can understand how you feel, he said.
You don’t, and stay out of my head, she said curtly.
She could see on his face that it stung. He became silent as he walked with her into the town hall. Freya, still under Cassian’s spell, walked behind them, dazed.
Inside the town hall’s main hall were shelves upon shelves of books that the Deathless were actively sorting through. There were no weapons on display nor any grim symbolism that she’d anticipated. Inside, the people were not wearing their masks nor their cloaks.
They just looked like regular people, not like a villain’s henchmen.
“Altered shit, all of it,” one of the scholars said. “I do not remember this being here. I am afraid, Vanderbilt, these books are only good as paperweights.”
“Or, rather, weighty paper!” Vanderbilt, the other scholar standing beside the first one, said, and burst out laughing.
“You’re not funny,” the first scholar said. And then his eyes went to Lesya. “Oh, hello there. You’re new here.”
Lesya noticed the man’s eyes were entirely white, and he was looking at her bag with a deep interest.
“Where did you get those, young lady?” he asked. “And may I have a look at them?”
“In time, perhaps, Arnold. She has a meeting with the Nomad first,” Edda said, waving him off.
“Of course,” Arnold said, retreating toward the shelves.
“What are they doing?” Lesya asked, leaning closer to Edda.
“A futile search for lost books. These are all the ones we’ve been able to salvage from all over Aladria and the rest of the world. Sadly, there’s a bit of mischievous magic at play here. It’s basically rendered these books useless. The spells, rituals, and arcane knowledge has been altered.”
“How did he know I was carrying books with me?” Lesya asked Edda. Edda paused in her steps. She had a tight black bun atop her head that made the skin of her forehead feel stretched. The woman was in her late-forties from the looks of it. She pursed her lips, then stepped closer to Lesya.
“There’s things at work that you don’t understand, okay?
” Edda said. “That man is a seer. He’s blind in the traditional sense, but he’s got keen vision, if you know what I’m saying.
He’s able to see through a person as easily as he can see through walls.
He can discern truth from lies. There are other seers here too.
It was with their collective effort we were able to locate several of the buried temples, hidden books, and lost relics. ”
Lesya had never heard of this kind of magic before. What other magics existed that she had no idea about?
They walked through the main hall and into a small hallway that had several rooms.
She could feel his presence. It made her hair stand on edge.
The lamps on the walls flickered, their flames being pulled in one direction, all the shadows flocking toward the room at the end of the hallway.
An unnatural coldness came from that room.
She wished to turn around and be as far away from it as possible.
The air smelled like the inside of a hospital. Sterile, medicinal.
Cass, I’m afraid.
Cassian did not respond. He stood at the door, hand on its knob, beckoning her to come forward.
She took a deep breath and followed him.
He opened the door, and it was the same room from the vision he’d shared with her.
A fireplace at the other end, a thronelike chair in front of it.
Shelves upon shelves of books, and shelves of vials and medicines.
This was a scholar’s room, not a necromancer’s room.
There was a skylight sending a beam of sunlight into the middle of the room.
A man stood in the corner, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He wore no mask nor cloak.
She caught his pale reflection in the mirror, his black eyes staring at her. He gave her a smile and turned around, stepping into the sunlight, the light contrasting his pallid appearance tenfold.
“Before any greetings and introductions, I would like to offer reassurance. You are not my prisoner. Nor, if things do not transpire positively between us, will I punish you or imprison you. As I am sure my brother has told you, I am not the man I have been portrayed as.”
The Grath Nomad came forward, gave her a little bow, and reached for her hand, shaking it in the gentlemanly method.
“Viktor Mortandagh, at your service.”
She was charmed, even though the man’s touch was cold as ice.
“Lesya Rosefield,” she said.
Viktor Mortandagh stood up, giving her a warm smile. “Truly, there is nothing more beautiful to the eyes of a poet than a field of roses, but its veritable beauty pales in your comparison. Truly, you are everything that Cassian said you were. I am most enchanted to be in your presence, my lady.”
Her heart fluttered. Her skin broke in gooseflesh.
The Grath Nomad—or, rather, Viktor—was dead. But he had enough charisma to liven up the entire room.
* * *
Food by the plentiful was brought into the room and placed upon the dining table at its center.
Lamb roast, pork ribs, three different gravies, rich sauces made from fresh fruits and vegetables, steaming corn, warm bread, decadent cheese, wine goblets and wine bottles—it was a lavish feast and Lesya was starving.
“Please, do not hold back on my account,” Viktor said, pouring wine for everyone around the table. It was Cassian, Freya, Lesya, Viktor himself, and Edda.
Lesya found it a little difficult to eat at first because of being in Mortandagh’s presence, but when everyone else, including the thralled Freya, started eating their food, she felt far more comfortable.
It was very disarming, seeing Viktor tear off a turkey leg, place it upon his plate, and skewer it with his fork, then drip sauce all over it.
“This…” Viktor said, pointing his fork at Freya. “Is handiwork beyond my comprehension. You brought her back to life? How? I…I speak out of reverence, of course.”
“It was…”
Aeterna… What the fuck am I supposed to do here? Do I trust this man?
The Death Mother’s voice was a whisper.
There are two sides to each coin. Give him the chance to show you the other side. You’ve only known one so far. But that does not mean that you abandon all caution. Humans, by and large, virtuous or cunning, are all after something.
That doesn’t answer my question. Please don’t speak in riddles for once, Lesya pleaded, drinking her wine to show that she was behaving normally.
My religion and my knowledge have been veiled from the world for a long time. If you can establish that Mortandagh is sincere in his desire for this knowledge, this religion, do what you think is wise. A prophetess preaches.
Lesya held back a groan. Aeterna was not making it easier.
But the Grath Nomad was not eating his food. He’d covered his face with his hand and was silently weeping.
“I felt Aeterna’s presence in this room. Was she here just now?” he asked, his eyes red, the awe on his face reflecting the hallowedness he felt.
“Err… Sometimes I confer with her,” Lesya said a little stiffly.
“You have no idea the lengths I have gone to to achieve what you have. But the Death Mother tests us all differently. Some she tests by giving them power beyond mortal comprehension. Some she tests with her infinite silence.”
He’s not wrong about that, Aeterna whispered in Lesya’s head.
“I feel honored to be in your presence, Lesya, you who talk to the Death Mother,” he said, bowing his head once more.