Chapter 53
Rosomon
“Based on what Saxon has told us, I say we fly to Catha.” Zogar sits tall in his chair at the table in the war room at camp—the same room where Roule and Treacher interrogated us the last time we flew through the veil.
Glancing around the table, I draw a long breath that can’t begin to push aside my fears about this plan. Surath, Xendus and Saxon all nod their agreement, but Treacher turns toward Ersot and then back to the rest of us.
“Ersot and I have discussed this,” he says. “We will remain here. Along with the other riders and dragons we trust—”
“All the dragons can be trusted,” Ersot interjects.
Treacher’s jaw twitches, but he nods. “With help from our allies, Ersot and I will continue to free the rest of the dragon-shifters. We’ll also maintain order at camp and ensure the klericks remain captive.”
“That is a good plan,” Zogar says. “Thank you.”
Saxon turns toward Zogar. “Tell me more about these creatures you call manticores.”
“Manticores were always rare,” Zogar tells him. “They are extinct but were superi creatures with few powers. Their main use was enhancing the power of others, which is why they were hunted to extinction.”
“That’s terrible,” I say softly.
Zogar nods. “In appearance, manticores had the face of a human, the body of a lion and the tail of a scorpion. Also, vestigial wings…”
“Vestigial?” I ask.
“Not functional,” he clarifies. “Useless.”
“That does match the depictions of Othrix,” I say. “The images on the shrines and statues.” I glance toward Saxon and Treacher, who both nod.
Zogar has described manticores for me before, but I still find it hard to accept that the deity we’ve been worshiping, for all of recorded history, might not be a god at all.
“How large were these manticores?” Saxon asks.
“Like any creature, their sizes can vary,” Zogar replies. “But none was larger than a panther or perhaps a young lion.”
Saxon frowns. “Othrix is much larger than that,” he says. “Othrix is a formidable creature, who most certainly wields magic.”
Everyone turns toward him in surprise.
“How are you so certain?” I ask.
Saxon’s broad shoulders settle. “Because I was once brought before Othrix.” He looks around the table.
I gasp. “When? Why?”
Everyone in the room is now fully focussed on Saxon and my heart races.
“I grew up in Catha,” Saxon tells us. “Once a year, on the Feast of Othrix, there was a public audience. Before I had eight years, I attended one of these feasts with my parents.” He stares down at the table, clearly processing memories, and I reach for his hand to squeeze it.
He shoots me a slight smile of thanks, then continues. “That was the day I was accused of having Darkness. The klericks stole me away from my family and took me to the seminary.”
Raising his hand, I press my lips against his knuckles. “I’m so sorry.”
Zogar clears his throat, and I drop Saxon’s hand.
“That sounds sad, and all,” Surath cuts in. “But we need to hear more about what you saw that day. Tell us all you remember.”
Saxon nods. “I was very young, but I’ll never forget the spectacle of it. In an explosion of light and smoke and fire, Othrix appeared out of nowhere. As did the Prime Klerick. Both were massive.”
“You were very small,” Zogar interjects.
“That’s true,” Saxon says. “My memories may have exaggerated their sizes, somewhat, but Othrix was the height of at least ten men, and his lethal tail was long enough to lash forward toward the audience.” His body tenses. “I saw his tail slay a grown man.”
Saxon’s shoulders hitch as if he’s put himself back in that place. “Othrix was huge, and the Prime Klerick was a least ten hand spans tall. I know he was that tall, because other klericks stood before him.”
He shakes his head. “Now I know more about superi, and that some of us remained in the Light, I wonder now whether the Prime Klerick is a man at all.”
“Can the Prime Klerick be the same man as he was back then?” I ask Saxon.
Saxon presses his powerful hands against the table, and they flex. “I have no idea how or when the Prime Klerick is replaced. Or if he ever dies.”
“This Prime Klerick must be a superi,” Xendus says. “No man could live so long.”
“All this confirms we must fly to Catha,” Surath says. “We must see this Temple of Othrix for ourselves. And we must see this so-called god and Prime Klerick.” Her voice drips with disdain.
“And whether or not this Othrix exists,” Zogar adds. “We can easily expose the fallacies behind this religion. Once people know the truth, the klericy will lose all their power and the theocracy will fall.”
He makes it sound so easy, in his confident tone. “How would we even get an audience with Othrix or the Prime Klerick?” I ask.
Saxon rises from his chair. “The Feast of Othrix is in three days and there will be a public audience.”
“How can we gain entry?” I ask, wanting to find all the holes in this dangerous sounding plan. “Everyone in Catha must try to attend.”
“I’m certain I can get in,” Saxon says.
“Then let’s go.” Xendus stands and pounds the table with his fist. “Let’s crush this manticore and free the people of the Light from this tyranny.
All the dragons nod in agreement. I can’t deny that the Light would be a much better place if the religion is toppled.
The oppressive rules we follow are all based on the Tenets of Othrix.
If the entire religion is based on lies, if the Prime Klerick and Othrix are discredited, then the klericks will lose their power—and the King of Khotor as well, I hope.
When Saxon and the dragons talk about exposing the religion, it sounds simple, but nerves swirl in my belly. My eyes close as I think of Khotor and of Tynan. There’s no denying he’s taken his place at the King’s side.
The klericks we’ve questioned confirmed what Surath and Xendus told me. I’ve been given enough evidence and heard enough arguments to believe my love has regressed to his former self.
Saxon and I have discussed this development at length, and both now accept that the character growth Tynan experienced at camp dissolved under the lure of power and riches. With the promise of the future crown at his fingertips, Tynan may now be as cruel as the Kings of Khotor who went before him.
But I must focus on the things we can change.
And I must focus on a future that’s hopeful.
If the Tenets of Othrix are torn down, perhaps the founding principles can be restored—or an even better version of them.
In any case, without our religion, the Light will be a much better place, especially for women.
And for anyone with remnants of Darkness.
Zogar told me that once things are settled, the dragon-shifters will be free to live here, or go back to the Darkness, as they so choose.
Since those abhorrent creatures on the plains of Lymbo prevent an easy surface level crossing, and because the air is too thick for other winged creatures, only dragons can currently cross between the Darkness and the Light. So, the only way others could make the trip is on a dragon’s pommel.
An unexpected shiver traces through me. If Gabreal’s threats are real, neither Zogar nor I can ever return to the Darkness, lest the scars on my belly open, causing my painful death.
I shake off that thought and the memory of that horrible day. Those fears won’t serve me now, and I have no desire to return to the Darkness, though I expect Zogar wants to.
While I’ve been lost in thought, the others have continued to discuss more about our travels to Catha, and what Ersot and Treacher should do here while we’re gone.
“On the way to Catha,” I say, conceding that the decision’s been made, “can we make a stop in Achotia? I’d very much like to see my family.” The dragons have confirmed that the castle now flies the banners of Khotor, but I know little else.
“Of course, my queen.” Zogar smiles, but I find it hard to smile back. I’ll feel much better once I learn the fate of my father and brothers.