Chapter 4
Four
Lilith
For a heartbeat, I wondered what would happen if I let the seraph fail. But I didn’t want to be blamed for any mistake made—and the elders would somehow blame me, most assuredly.
Perhaps I could help Castiel. It never hurt to have someone powerful like you. It’s how I had survived unscathed for so long. I whispered, low enough that only the Herald would hear me. “Oh great Lord Erlik.”
Castiel’s eyes narrowed on me. He swallowed, then spoke in a loud, booming voice that made me remember he wasn’t human at all, but a mighty spiritual being beyond our ken.
“Oh great Lord Erlik.” He gave a pause, but somehow instead of confusion he radiated reverence, as if he was hesitating because of the weight of the blessing falling from his lips.
How could he not be a Herald? And what was a seraph? Were the elders lying, or had someone lied to them? I put it from my mind for now, trying to get us through the blessing for my mother’s sake. My questions could buzz around my head later.
“There is no blessing we implore that you cannot give.
Oh God of Death and the Beyond, infinite and boundless in your wisdom and grace, eternal as death itself, make us willing to accept your will and guidance through our lives.
From the rising sun to the midday of youth, to the grave of nightfall when we finally sojourn home into the shelter of your wings, we owe you our lives.
“And though we are but frail beings, grateful to look with wonder into the power of your name, we beseech of you.” I swallowed, leading the Herald of Death through my mother’s favorite blessing, so quietly none could hear but him.
“Bless us, oh Lord Erlik, with your wisdom, that we may spread your light across the world;
“Bless us, oh Lord Erlik, with your hope, that we may be unswerving and stalwart in our faith;
“Bless us, oh Lord Erlik, with your love, that we may never know true peace until we find our way to your home;
“And bless us, oh Lord Erlik, with your spirit, that we may remember our place as servants to you and servants to one another, living in community to the best of our ability, bringing honor and glory to you forever through our lives of service. Amen.”
Castiel’s voice echoed through the courtyard, strong and confident.
My mother wept beside me.
Castiel’s hands dropped to his sides and he looked over the crowd, back straight and amber eyes fierce. My heart skipped a beat at the sight. If he wasn’t a Herald from Erlik, what else could he be?
“Thank you,” one of the elders said in the heavy silence that followed. “Our gratitude for your presence knows no bounds.” The spell broke as people shuffled and glanced at one another.
My mother turned away, wiping her eyes with her apron, to follow the elders as they removed the two bodies.
“Mother,” I called out, but she didn’t hear me. She only had interest in Absalom. My lips twisted as I watched her walk through the crowd, away from me. In death as in life, I supposed. Why should this be any different than before?
The air was thick and heavy, a shroud across the entire crowd. Grief echoed in the loud silence. Everything seemed darker, more foreboding than last I’d experienced.
My skin prickled. I glanced over my shoulder to see Castiel, still as a statue, staring at me with that intense expression. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I needed to get away, to escape his ever-watching eyes and the suspicions I had about him. I looked away.
“Herald.” Elder White stepped toward him. “We shall have the funeral service tomorrow night at sunfall, as is custom for our church. If you approve?”
Castiel must’ve nodded, for White continued.
“We have prepared a place for you, with glass so you can receive your nourishment from the sun, as Reverend Grimshaw told us you required. Come, let us show you a place to rest. Tomorrow we can seek your counsel on moving forward, now our church will have Erlik’s own messenger in our midst.” A smug tone filled his voice.
He’d come to the Church of the Love of His Divine Saints a mere six years ago.
I’d heard he’d been released from his holy service at another church for Erlik.
They considered his views extreme. Persecuted and maligned, Elder White found his way to our community and joined our congregation.
“Very well,” Castiel said evenly.
I took two steps away, hoping to hide in my bedroom for all eternity, but Castiel’s voice cut me short.
“I will need her—the woman.”
I froze. My pulse rushed in my ears.
“The—woman?” There was a heartbeat of silence. “Well, if that is something a Herald requires, you may keep her. She is the prettiest woman we have. I’d assumed spiritual beings such as yourself had no base desires, but if you require it—”
“Not that.” Castiel’s voice cut like a whip. “Have her settle my resting place. It needs a woman’s touch, doesn’t it? And then I shall release her back to her duties.”
“Ah.”
I turned to see the edge of Elder White’s smile. He wiped his forehead with a white handkerchief. “Yes, that makes sense.” He shot me a warning look. “Lilith, come here.”
Seething inside, I made sure my expression was pleasant. “Yes, Elder White?”
“Come,” he said impatiently. “You will see to his comfort and bring him a meal if he desires. Then get back to your home where you belong.”
I dipped in a curtsy, dropping my eyes in case I wasn’t able to hide my frustration.
“As you command, Elder.” I followed two steps behind the men—one human, dressed in black, the other seraph, bare-chested with a sword strapped to his back between his wings.
Those glorious wings were folded tightly against him, as if he didn’t want to touch anything around him.
They went up the stone steps toward the green door of the church.
I bit the inside of my cheek to hide a smile.
The elders had no idea who they were welcoming into the fold.
I’d long thought that Reverend Grimshaw was a touch arrogant, but it was never my place to say anything.
Besides, I was supposed to be a pretty face.
My mind wasn’t supposed to be quick and sharp.
Perhaps I was arrogant, too, perhaps I thought I was smarter than I actually was.
Because surely the men were elders for a reason, weren’t they?
And I’d been chosen by Erlik to be a pretty face for another reason, hadn’t I?
Regardless, I’d always wondered if Grimshaw and the elders understood that by finding the Herald and bringing him into the church to worship, it meant ceding some of their own authority.
It wasn’t like bringing a statue into a shrine.
These Heralds were living, breathing beings with much closer ties to Erlik than mere humans.
They would expect to have the final say in the church, surely.
I used to think the elders were wise, humble men who only wanted the best for the congregation.
But I’d served in enough meetings to know they bickered and argued just as much as the women cooking in the kitchens.
They would struggle to follow another’s leadership, even if it was from the Herald they’d searched for for so many years.
Through the entry hall we went. I paused to shut the door behind us.
Our footsteps made soft, echoing sounds against the stone floor and walls.
Elder White led us down the left cloister.
Dark wooden pews lined the center of the room, facing a pulpit and altar at the end.
A large, carved wooden throne sat behind that, half in shadow.
A door here and there, off to the side, led to workrooms, where the women spent most of their time while the men studied and worshiped.
Darkness rolled out from the corners of the room, spreading tendrils in search of something to latch onto.
The few lit candles couldn’t beat back the shadows, but they did highlight the moldy corners of the church.
At the end of the cloister stood another wooden door.
Beside the door, tucked into an old alcove, a little table sat with a candle and statue perched atop it. It was covered in shadows and dust. Most people seemed to have forgotten it existed. But I loved that little alcove because of the fading, chipped painting someone had put there ages ago.
Before this became the Church of the Love of His Divine Saints, it had been abandoned when the neighborhood had emptied.
Inhabitants sixty years ago had moved further into Lownden, making this the perfect place for the first Reverend Grimshaw and his elders to plant their church and draw other families in.
The building was two or three centuries old, and while no one had ever told me what sort of worship happened here, I could guess by the painting.
As we passed the faded figures of Lord Erlik and Mother Emmas looked down at me with benevolent gazes, though their eyes had chipped away.
Erlik wore gray, the color of death, and his wife, Mother Emmas, wore a soft green that had aged into nearly white.
They stood together, their hands clasped.
At his feet sat an hourglass and at hers, a little stream.
Between the hourglass and stream lay a shepherd’s staff.
It was so…comforting, so loving, it made my chest ease.
Worship for Mother Emmas had dwindled over the last few hundred years.
I didn’t know if covens even existed anymore.
But this image of the two primary gods together, one in marriage and in nature, warmed my heart.
Some of the sacred precepts called Lord Erlik a loving father who shepherded his children home after life.
While the elders used this imagery all the time—and encouraged the men in the congregation to be an earthly Erlik in their own family, ruling with benevolence and wisdom—the only time I really understood was when I looked at this old painting.
The door creaked open, jerking me back to the present.