Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“So today I ask you for one small thing. What act of love can you show a stranger?” Otta preaches from the pulpit in the Watchtower. For such a slight, dainty woman, the priestess speaks so captivatingly. She consumes all the attention in the room without being smothering or aggressive.
Light punches into the old space in brilliant white columns, breaking up the historic black and white décor.
The facetted window behind Otta gives her a heavenly shine as she moves with refined elegance.
She doesn’t wear the ridiculous, opulent black and white robes of a cardinal or bishop.
Instead, she keeps her black and white dresses simple and Halician in style, accompanied by a white gossamer veil flowing down her back.
I still can’t quite decide if Otta’s hair is ginger or warm brown given how much it changes in the light, but that seems only to add to her spiritual reverence.
I sit right at the front, publicly showing my support for Otta and her work.
Clearly her message resonates with many as the hall is overflowing.
Every bench is crammed and people have brought their own chairs to wedge into any space available.
They’re kneeling on the ground, squeezing in at the entrances, peering through the windows, clustering anywhere close enough to hear the Holy Word.
I knew giving Otta a platform would provide people with the spiritual nourishment that we all need. I know I need it. Now more than ever.
Giulia shuffles to my left, drawing my eye. She flashes a smile my way before turning her attention back to the priestess as she speaks. Otta brings her hands to her heart.
“With that, my friends, go with the grace of Fate.” Otta bids the congregation farewell as she descends the pulpit. People stand and start to bustle their way out of the old building. Otta walks up to me, taking my hands in hers and smiling brightly.
“Renza,” she says with genuine warmth, hands squeezing my fingers. “Good to see you.”
“And you. Another rousing sermon,” I say gently. “Small acts of love to make this world better is such a lovely idea.”
“Oh, I am pleased it resonated with you.” Otta beams, her eyes going wide with delight. “I was hoping to get a minute of your time after the service today. I understand you might not have time to wait until everyone has left, but I thought asking couldn’t hurt.”
“For you, I will make the time,” I say, surprised, and returning her squeeze before dropping her hands. Otta nods brightly.
“Excellent. I will try to be as quick as I can. Feel free to wait anywhere that feels comfortable,” Otta says as she drifts towards the exit and the people hovering for a word with her. Giulia slowly turns to look around the hall.
“Planning out wedding placements?” I ask her quietly. With Otta’s new Independent Faith gaining legs here in Halice, free of the control and oppression of the Holy States, Giulia and Michelle’s wedding is back on. As are funerals, naming ceremonies and other important services.
Giulia blushes, feeling caught.
“It’s silly.”
“No, not at all. I can see a tall arch of flowers over that window, and another over there,” I say, pointing. “What do you think?”
“I was thinking about a string quartet over there,” she says, pointing to a small alcove, “and maybe wrapping the columns with ribbons and beads but I can’t see any anchor points and I don’t want to ruin the stonework. I wonder if they have existing frames stored somewhere or if we can make them?”
“Well, I believe that man there is the caretaker,” I say, indicating a slightly older gentleman beginning to straighten things out after the packed sermon.
“I’ll just be a few moments,” Giulia says, biting her lip as she looks at me uncertainly. I give her my best grin.
“Go, ask. I’ll be around,” I promise, giving her a little push. She nods before spiriting over to the gentleman to strike up conversation.
I take a deep breath, bringing my hands in front of me and linking them.
I look down the hall towards the exit where Otta is expertly greeting people by name, making them feel heard and welcome while ushering them out in a timely fashion.
But I’m getting looks. People are muttering and throwing glances my way, a mixture of emotions hidden behind them.
Each is a dagger pressing against the base of my throat.
I swallow tightly, looking back down at my hands as a heavy weight appears in my chest. Waiting feels wrong.
I should be doing something. I should be working, busy.
Too busy to feel this guilt, this rock weighing down my insides.
I shuffle my shoulders, even though by now I’m well aware it’ll do nothing to alleviate the familiar sensation.
I blow out through pursed lips, looking around.
My eyes catch on a familiar door. A door that barely months ago I charged through with my Fated, on the precipice of victory.
I can hear it all again, feel Idris’s hand in mine.
Then we were one. United against everything and anything.
It had worked. It was powerful. It had felt right.
My feet move of their own accord as I drift towards the door, leading to the spiral stairs stretching up to the roof.
Metal clanks softly as I lift the latch and open the door.
In an instant I’m back, following the memory of Idris up these ancient stone steps.
They are just as tall as I remember – the narrow towers and tight spiral punishing me, blood pouring down my screaming leg, the bond drowning in my rage.
I can picture Idris’s blond head a few paces above me, shouting his encouragement.
Now the silence is deafening. The memories echo in my ears.
I walk slowly up and up, running my hands over the wall. I remember pushing myself here, right here. My bloodied fingers left a mark on the wall then. It’s long since been wiped away.
I come to the door on to the roof. I try the handle and it turns freely.
I step outside. The gathering clouds of today’s overcast sky are a staggering contrast to the sweltering, relentless heat of High Summer.
It’s so quiet. It wasn’t then. ‘Maineri, Patricelli, Halice.’ Over and over, the roar of hope, the spirit of Halice never brighter. The defiance of Fate itself.
If Halice fell, would they resist like that?
Would the people band together and fight back as they did that day?
I placed so much faith in them and they didn’t let me down.
But we weren’t those same people. This city was changed in ways that made it unrecognisable.
If the Holy States triumph … will we cower and accept?
Will our proud history be ground into dust as we stand by and watch, our differences too wide to overcome?
I suppose I shouldn’t use the word “we”. If that happens, I won’t be here to see it.
I walk to the edge of the building and look down over the ledge where Bellandi had hung. Below, people mill about in Market Square. No one notices or looks up, no eyes gaze skyward. The wind plays with my skirts, dragging the soft silks over the edge, pushing against the backs of my ankles.
I am invisible and unnoticed. For one small moment I’m not needed or busy or missed. Not judged. Not failing. I’m not letting someone down and I’m not the lynchpin holding this whole city together.
Choices have power, but they also have consequences. Fate will get his revenge on those who ignore his will.
An emptiness settles in my gut; a numbness wraps around my throat and that weight in my chest gets so heavy it feels unbearable.
My brain turns to cotton. It’s unnerving but somehow simultaneously peaceful.
A deep, endless, dark nothingness. I close my eyes, letting out a deep breath and swimming in the absolute detachment and absence for a moment.
It’s not happiness, it’s not comfort … but it’s a seductive peace. And I’m so tired.
I just want rest. I just want peace. It would be so easy—
“Renza.”
My eyes snap open and I turn around to see Giulia by the door. She steps out into the sun, her golden hair falling like sunshine manifest. Her crystal-blue eyes snap to the edge Bellandi went over, which is less than an inch from my toes, and then back to me.
“Just remembering everything we fought for,” I say, hating how wooden my voice sounds. “It feels so long ago for something barely months back.”
I walk towards her, refusing to glance back at the ledge.
My sister nods nonchalantly, as though nothing is wrong.
But I have known my sister for years. Brilliant as she is at concealing herself from others, I can see the sharp worry in her gaze as she wraps her arm around mine.
It feels like a punch to my stomach, a bitter, brutal bite that I put such a look there.
“I know what you mean. Everything is so different,” Giulia says quietly. “The Great Rebellion seems like an age ago. But things move and change. It won’t be like this forever. Soon this war will be over, and the High Chamber will be back in place.”
“And you will be getting married. Tell me, do they have the structures you want to use?” I ask as we head for the door.
“Not that the caretaker knows, but he said he’d have a good look for me.”
“Well, I’m sure we can get some made.”
“Yes. Normally I’d ask Serra but she’s on her engineering sabbatical. And this complete break from engineering is doing wonders for her. Perhaps we should go and see her later? Have a long overdue girls’ afternoon.”
“I have reports and a meeting with—”
“Perhaps that’s even more reason,” Giulia says insistently as we step inside. “We’ve barely seen you for weeks and weeks. You’re always working.”
“The city is in crisis, Giulia. It can’t wait. It’s my job,” I say. “Another time.”
As I close the door behind us, I can’t help myself. My eyes fall on the precipice again. Bellandi’s fight was over, after all the evil he’d done. He was gone.
I let out a breath, summoning all my strength, and put those memories as far from my mind as I can.