When Heroes Die

“Like history, stories repeat themselves. Reject the lie of safety offered by narrative. For only by casting off its shackles can power truly be seized.”

— Translation of the Kabbalis Book of Darkness, widely attributed to the young Dead King

“Surprised you’ve not stopped glowing,” Songbird stated.

Again? Fuck it, I’m sticking with this.

The sound of her horse’s hooves to my left were muffled by a thick bed of dirty snow. Efforts had been made to remove it from the main road, but they were of limited success.

“It’s a strategic action,” I lied. “If I glow all the time, then people can’t tell when I’m considering something.”

“I think you’re lying I think it's just that you don’t want to be called the Flickering Priestess like I was calling you earlier.” Yvette added.

“Shining Priestess does sound better,” Songbird agreed.

“Pests, both of you.”

Songbird and Yvette both laughed. Songbird was rubbing off on Yvette. It wasn’t something that I approved of.

“This is a course of action that I most heartily approve of.”

Of course.

I turned to my right, brushed some snow out of my face, and raised an eyebrow at Roland on his dappled horse. It was awkward when riding side-saddle, but by now I had almost acclimatised to it.

“You’re just saying that to flatter me.” I tried to keep my voice even, but it was hard not to allow my amusement to bleed through.

“Flattery a fair maiden such as yourself most surely deserves.” He grinned at me.

Frosted wooden houses stood hunched behind him. Many of them were hidden behind the traffic beside us. People stopped and stared or pointed at me as Pandora plodded along. By now I was used to it.

He’s not giving up on this any time soon, is he?

“You’re going to need to try harder than that.”

If anything, he seemed more reassured.

“Y’know m’starting to think I didn’t make a mistake after all.” I turned back to the bedraggled, grinning redhead and glared at her.

“You’re so much trouble, Song.”

“M’not trouble at all. My soul is pure, oh refulgent one.”

“As pure as the snow on the ground.”

Songbird gasped, affecting a look of mock offence at my words.

“S’pose you can give me good dreams too?”

“What?”

“Y’know. They still call you the Sovereign of Ardent Dreams. I could do with some of those. Three or four naked-”

“Not happening,” I cut her off. “I’m not indulging your fantasies.”

“Awwww. S’pose you can’t be fun.”

It was more that I couldn’t do it, although not from a lack of trying. Creating illusions was easy. Seeding pleasant dreams in advance was something I thought I could do, but hadn’t succeeded at.

The rugged caravan in front of us came to a halt. I tried peeking around and finding out what was occurring up ahead. I could not see past the olive painted roof.

“See if you can find out what’s happening, Roland. I’d like to be within the city walls before dusk.”

“I count on there being another brawl,” he replied.

“Y’know, this wouldn’t’ve been a problem if you’d agreed to stable them earlier.”

“It’s not a problem it just means we need to wait a little and not walk much further in snow besides do you really trust the stables further back in the slums at the city outskirts they looked like they were considering selling off our horses here isn’t much better either.” Yvette interjected from behind.

“It would take someone truly bereft of their wits to attempt to sell our mounts,” Roland criticized.

“Fine. I’ll admit I made a mistake,” I admitted.

Roland dismounted and handed the reins of his mount to me, lightly brushing his fingers against mine.

“So,” I turned my attention back to Songbird. “You still haven’t told me why you’re fine with this.”

“Be more specific,” she tapped her leg in thought.

“Me trying to empower the church.”

“Why?”

“I’ve spoken to Cordelia. I know that the Lycaonese view the amount of power the House of Light wields down south in a dim light. Can’t see why you would be fine with me increasing that.”

“M’not sure if you understand yourself that well.”

“What?”

“Think. Say y’see a crowd beating someone. What’re you gonna do?”

“Don’t know why that’s important.” I ran my hand through Pandora’s mane in my impatience. It was silky soft to the touch.

“Answer the question,” Songbird mock glared at me.

“Break up the fight. Ask what’s going on. See if I can resolve it without violence.”

“S’my point.”

“I’m not following.”

“Normal people either sit and watch or don’t care.”

“So you’re saying that you’re not worried about me trying to empower the House of Light because I… care?”

Surely that can’t be the reason.

“S’right. You’ll arrive, find out how useless they all are, then start to tear into them.”

Her ironclad belief in that was discouraging.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Ever been to the large cathedrals?”

“No.”

“You’ll see them soon. M’sure that they care more about money and power than you’d approve of.”

“So you think I’d take power away from the church instead?”

“You’re a saint, Taylor. Not one of the ones that swings swords, either.”

“Well. This saint wants power over parts of the church.”

“And we’ll all be better for it. Y’won’t get what you want. Not any time soon at least. But you’ll fix everything else.”

A flamboyant array of silks approaching marked Roland’s return.

“Found out what the problem is?” I passed the reins back to him.

“Two men are settling grievances up ahead in a duel.” He took the reins, but did not mount up.

“You’re joking. The magistrates will be all over this. I’m surprised the guard has not stepped in.”

“It is a spar between two ninth sun duellists.”

“You didn’t intervene?”

Roland was usually one to involve himself in these kinds of conflicts.

“I am not so much a fool as to position myself between the blades of two swordsmen of such renown.”

“I doubt that.”

A smile tugged at his lips. He didn’t reply.

“Well, I’m about to be a fool then.” I sighed in irritation, then snapped my mouth shut.

The air was thick with a cloying smog.

Snow crunched as my boots touched the ground. I passed Roland my reins.

“Take care of her.”

The gremlin in question was busy harassing a poor pigeon that had landed on the nose of her horse. She looked up when I mentioned her name.

“I’m fine you don’t need to look after me just do whatever you need to do I promise.”

Roland dipped his head in acknowledgement.

I started to weave my way between the cramped traffic ahead. I felt eyes linger on me as I progressed past the crowd. It took another hail for me to break through to the front of the congestion.

It was much as Roland had said.

Two youths were exchanging blows with duelling swords. Their movements were fluid. The blonde on the left stepped forward, his footing sure on the stained mud. He parried the blow to his right. Two steps back. His black haired opponent tensed as if he was about to perform another jab. It was a feint.

Despite my expectations, there were no magistrates or city guards ready to intervene in the fight. A wide open ring had been cleared out for them.

I don’t have time for this.

“Enough.” I declared, stepping into their ring. The Light flowed through me. It always did. However, the feeling was different when I actively called upon it. I knew that it scalded near everyone else, even when used to heal. That was not true for me. It felt like the hope of a better future when it coursed through my veins.

Green eyes on the left flicked to me for not even a heartbeat. His opponent tried to capitalize. A blade blurred forward, only to strike against a golden barrier. It shattered on impact. They continued as if the interruption had not even taken place.

Really?

Two more attempts at barriers. They moved around my obstructions as if they weren’t even there. The light around both of them bent. They could only see me now. Me, and nobody else. Both fighters closed their eyes and kept fighting. Another strike. Parried this time. Emotional manipulation came even easier to me than before. Unfortunately, it did nothing to either duellist.

I didn’t want to hurt them. Was there another way to force this to end? Yes.

I deliberately walked into the middle of the arena and intercepted the blade with my hand. I focused the moment before I was struck, turning that part of myself into what I truly was.

“I said enough.”

The blade passed through my hand. There was a blaze of Light where the cut occurred, but not much else. My hand appeared soon after. The other swordsman’s blade slammed into my robes but failed to penetrate.

The fight ground to a halt.

“Chosen. We-we’re sorry.” The words were stammered out in fear. “Were you struck? Do you have wounds that need tending to? Oh, no. Oh, no.”

“No.”

“Do you seek redress? My family may be able to-”

“No. You’re lucky. I’m compassionate, not just.”

The man sounded relieved.

“There’s no need for you to intervene. No disrespect was intended. If there is a slight, then-”

I looked up into the amber eyes of the pale faced man who had addressed me. Despite towering over me, he looked small.

“That is not for you to decide.” I interjected. “Why are you two fighting?”

“We s-strive to test ourselves in the hopes of one day moving beyond the tenth sun.”

“And you couldn’t fight this out somewhere else?” My eyebrows must have risen into my hair.

“The roads were clear when our bout began,” the one on the right defended.

I turned my gaze towards him. He flinched.

“It isn’t now.”

Both of them glanced around, taking in the sizeable delay along the road. They had the decency to look chastised once they saw the waiting traffic.

“We apologize for the inconvenience we caused.” I looked from one to the other.

“Be more considerate in future.”

They both ran as if they were hounded by devils the moment I finished speaking.

Sighing, I began to return to the others.

“Had fun?” Songbird queried.

“Waste of time,” I complained, mounting up.

We were on our way once more. Deeper towards the city. The Yearning Walls beckoned in the distance. Buildings grew from wooden shacks to stone houses. Chimneys bellowed out a thick smoke. Chaotic construction work took place among the slums.

The state of the city became cleaner and more organized the closer we drew to the walls. Gardens started to appear between buildings, and the further we progressed, the larger the gardens grew. The side of the road — once bereft of anything but travelling vagrants — was now lined with stalls.

We passed through the Griffon Gate. The road beyond was swept clean. It didn’t take long to hand off our horses to a poor attendant. The girl took one look at me, then stammered out a nervous assurance that our horses would be well cared for.

The state of the city within the walls was another step up entirely.

Multi-storey stone houses with stained-glass windows. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before, but it was notable in how commonplace it was compared to anywhere else I’d visited in Calernia barring the Titan’s city in the Chain of Hunger. We continued onwards past vast open-air markets.

The sun had passed its zenith and started to sink by the time we approached the green bannered exterior of the destination Songbird had picked out for us. The establishment ran more to her tastes than my own, but I wasn’t about to make a fuss about it. It did amuse me that a few patrons seemed more uncomfortable with my presence than I was for being there.

“See if you can find out if Cordelia is still in the city, Song.” I turned to Roland. “You said you could help find other heroes?”

“I’ll see what I can find with the rise of dawn. For now, I intend to rest.”

Right. We’ve only just arrived.

“I think we should all do that”

“Y’know, m’surprised that you agreed to stay here.” Songbird snorted. She leaned against the out wall of the establishment. We were saved from having snow in our hair by a large cloth shade shrouding the front of the building.

“Where did you expect me to stay?”

“In one of the cloisters, with the other sisters.”

“No, thanks.”

“If you get your way, then you’ll have to.”

“Don’t think so,” I sighed. “I’ll find some way to live where I want to.”

“Corruption, already?” Songbird mimed being struck by an arrow. “And to think, you haven’t even met any of the Holies yet.”

“Who would you suggest talking to?”

“Nobody important. Yet.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“Y’don’t want to waste their time.”

I looked at her.

“Just tell me who you think I need to talk to and where I need to go.”

“You’re gonna need to head towards the Upper Yearning to find the Holies. Then just pick any Cathedral and chances are you’ll run into one,” she answered flippantly.

… She doesn’t actually know, does she?

It struck me that I probably knew more about the church than she did. I’d just assumed I’d be relying on her for parts of this. I’d assumed that I’d be relying on her like I had in Aisne, but I probably didn’t need to.

“You don’t know anything about the church’s organization, do you?”

“S’not like I needed to deal with them,” she groused. “I dealt with nobles, not priests. You prob’ly know more about them than me. I’m not a devout priestess. You are! You prob’ly memorized the Book of All Things.”

“I didn’t.”

“Actually she did remember ma you told me you can remember your life like reading text off a book now and I know you read the Book of All Things that means you know it right?”

“Okay, so maybe by technicality. I never quote it.”

“Bet you think about it when talking to other priests.”

“Is today gang up on Taylor day?” I complained.

“Always is.”

“If you’re not going to give advice, then don’t complain about whom I decide to talk to.”

All four of us shuffled indoors. I sent for a messenger and penned a letter to one Sister Dominique at the Selandine Basilica in an effort to arrange a meeting the following day. She was someone who had actually responded to some of my communications in the past, and was a person of influence within the church. Songbird also penned letters of her own.

It was at dawn the next day that both of us received our replies. Cordelia was no longer in Salia. That complicated matters, but not to the point of endangering my plans. Roland decided to go on his own adventure and take Yvette along with him. Songbird would correspond with old acquaintances. That just left me.

I’d been cordially invited to speak with Sister Dominique after the morning service at a nearby chapel. There was an open invitation to attend the service as well, but I doubted I’d be able to arrive in time. There were also instructions on how to find the Basilica in question.

I was about to depart when Songbird seized me by the arm.

“Don’t promise her anything,” she hissed. “The powers that be in the church are just as canny as even the sharpest prince.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

The Holies were the most respected figures within the Proceran House of Light. They weren't officially in charge, but their words did tend to become policy. I was willing to extend them a fair amount of trust, despite Songbird's protests. It didn't mean I wouldn't temper it with a healthy dose of caution, but I had yet to meet a priest that I didn't like.

“M’serious, Taylor. Be vague. Let this Sister Dominique fill in the gaps. You’re a Chosen priestess. She’ll fall over her own feet to help you. Doesn’t mean she won’t have her own schemes. Best to move only after you know where the knives lie.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

I left the establishment and started to follow Dominique’s directions. The first part wasn’t that hard. The Upper Yearning was the part of the city further uphill. It was also the nicer part of the city, although that didn’t mean much. It was the difference between upper class citizens and princes in terms of wealth. Everyone in these parts of the city lived well.

I felt out of place as I entered the Upper Yearning. Dirty. Like I was a trespasser in the homes of the wealthy. While Cordelia’s fortress had been more extravagant than most places I had been, it had nothing on the palaces in Salia. Large mansions with exquisitely cared for gardens trailed as far as the eye could see. Hedges dusted in snow. Frost lined buildings that looked almost as if they had been designed for the express purpose of being painted in winter white.

At least the advice had been easy to follow.

I shaded my eyes against the harsh glare of the snow as I caught sight of my destination in the distance and made my way towards it. There weren’t many people out on these streets. The rich had no need to be out and about in the cold.

Boots clicked on cobbled road as I passed down an avenue of well tended naked oaks and walked beneath the comforting shadow of the bell tower. I trailed my fingers along the masonry, lost in thought, as I approached the basilica before me. A tower loomed on either side of the monument, and decorative arches were carved into the masonry.

The pale flicker of candlelight through the stained-glass windows featuring famous religious figures beckoned to me up ahead. People were leaving the building in crowds. I drew closer, slowed. Two wide-eyed figures ahead to either side of the entrance of the Basilica bowed to me as I passed. I thanked them awkwardly. No words were said in return, but none were to be expected. They were among those who had sworn a vow of silence.

The place was busy. The faithful gathered together in small groups and whispered to each other. Some entering, some leaving. Everyone present was dressed rich. This was not a place attended by the poor.

Many of their dreams were enraging. That observation wasn’t limited to the attending nobility.

… Songbird had been more right than I liked.

A few of them turned and looked at me as birds of prey do when circling up high in the air. The rest either put up an air of indifference, or were too indulged in their existing conversations to notice me. I suspected that most fell into the latter category. While my glow was distinct, it was also faint and hard to notice.

“May you be always graced by the Light, Chosen. “Someone greeted me from behind.

I turned.

A broad shouldered boy was bowing to me obsequiously. It was something I doubted I’d ever become used to.

“Stand up. I’m here to speak to Sister Dominique. I have a meeting scheduled with her.”

He straightened. His feet started to eat the ground. I followed behind him. I was led by my guide into the back halls. They were no less immaculate than the part of the building available to the public. My guide ushered me into a parlour guarded by a trio of armed priests. My eyes raised. I knew that they existed, but hadn’t encountered them before.

My guide left me seated in the most comfortable recliner I’d ever sat in at a mahogany table, then returned shortly afterwards with a roasted quail and plums. I had been assured the accompanying wine would be to my tastes, but I declined it regardless. I dug into the meal.

Perhaps I should have declined the meal as well?

I moved the plums to one side with my silverware. I was certain that they had been drenched in alcohol. It was disappointing. Even if they weren’t ethanol in a plum, they were still too sweet for me. At least the quail was succulent. I’d never had one before.

My mind wandered as I ate. I took the opportunity to examine the room.

There was a painting on the wall opposite the door. It showed a woman dressed in white, sword raised to the heavens. A winged angel floated above her.

“It was one of our darker hours,” a calm, feminine voice spoke.

“Seventh Crusade?” I turned towards the door.

“You have the right of it, sister,” my interlocutor gave me a wrinkled smile. Silver haired, she stood straight backed and lithe at the doorway. She looked spry, despite the evidence of her old age.

Punish the wicked. Punish the unworthy. Strengthen the church. Uphold the faith. Woe to any who do not share our beliefs.

My heart sank.

It was her dream. Like many of the priests I had seen within the Basilica, her dream was incompatible with my own. Not because she was not faithful — all of them were — but because somewhere along the line they had lost sight of the people they were trying to care for.

Why did Songbird have to be right?

“Want any?”

I gestured towards my plate.

“I already ate,” she answered. “The fell tidings you warned of proved to be timely.”

The chair scraped as she sat down opposite me.

“What happened?”

“A painter who renders scenes that can make stones weep.”

My brow furrowed.

“They’re not painting people’s souls into paintings, are they?”

“A fair concern after that atrocity of an artist you ended years past,” she nodded my way in approval, “but no. This painter is sworn to above. The Old Master earned his choosing by painting the rooftop of a chapel in Aisne.”

Michelangelo?

“Is that it?”

If that was the extent of it, then I would be relieved.

“Three Names not recognized as either heroes or villains of old have appeared.”

“Only three?”

“We suspect many more. Chaos haunts the Principate. Those are confirmed.” she paused, then gestured towards the wine bottle I had set aside. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

Sister Dominique poured herself a glass of wine.

“The second was one of our lay brothers in Bayeux. He attempted to publish several blasphemous texts. The clergy attempted to apprehend him, but he has eluded capture so far.”

Which story would this match? Galileo? No, I don’t think it matches. Leave it for later, Taylor.

“And the third?”

“A member of the upper nobility in Salia ran from her house after her brother claimed his own life. She has gone on to commit a string of lesser crimes, always tearing into the heart of people when she speaks.”

My heart sank.

It could have been a lot of stories, but in my heart I already knew which story it was.

The story of Tattletale had come back to haunt me once again.