When Heroes Die

“I find that there is no difference between a diabolist and a priest once you stake them through the heart and peel away the skin.”

— Dread Emperor Nihilis I, the Tanner

“I had not thought this news would distress you.”

The next bite of my quail had become lost in the purgatory between the plate and my mouth the moment Sister Dominique had mentioned the third confirmed Name.

They’re not Lisa.

“I knew the last person who held that Role.” It was difficult to keep my voice measured as I replied.

“Were they among the Chosen or the Damned? Some Chosen are known to have a… loose relationship towards ownership.”

Think about this later.

“How has the House responded to the chaos?”

“The seventy-first conclave in Salia has been called to determine the shape of our response.” My eyebrows rose in surprise.

“That’s the first I’m hearing of it. I thought it was customary for these things to be announced to the public.” She kept her green-grey eyes locked on her wineglass as I spoke, and affected as if her attention was elsewhere. I knew that to be a lie. Her attention was honed to a fine edge.

“The tidings you brought cast a dark shadow over the future. It would be remiss for us to act without proper consideration being given by all parties.” Sister Dominique swirled the last of the wine in the glass around in her wrinkled hand, then downed it in a single gulp.

“Lesser or greater conclave?”

“It is a lesser conclave. Are you sure I cannot offer you a glass of wine? It is an Arlesite red.” she asked as she reached around the unlit candle on the desk towards the bottle.

“No, thanks.”

I noted her offer as I dismissed it. Her offering to pour implied that she considered herself lower in the hierarchy than I was. At least… that was what Roland had taught me years ago. I didn’t need to pay attention to these details all that often.

“Your words were passed on to our brothers and sisters on foreign shores, along with invitations to attend. Only polite refusals were returned.”

It didn’t surprise me. The last time the entire priesthood of the west had been moved to act had been during the time of Triumphant.

“What has the conclave decided?”

“It has yet to occur. We are waiting on the last few influential among the Proceran clergy.”

“Has nothing been done then?” I gripped my fork tighter.

“These are dark times. The rise of new heroes and villains both is not the only ghost to haunt these lands. War still ravages the Principate, and ghosts haunt Constance’s Scar.”

“There are no ghosts there,” I denied. “I’ve been to the scar. Creation is weakened there. It’s the Fae pretending to be ghosts, not ghosts.”

“That is an even greater cause for concern.”

“And yet you don’t sound worried.”

“Time wears away at all things. We do our best to endure its ravages, but only the Gods may truly reverse the flow of the sand.”

“The rise of new Names will only become worse.” I finished my meal, made use of the napkin, set my cutlery down and moved the plate to the side.

“Are you an Augur then, blessed with prophetic visions?” Her eyes moved off of her wine glass to my face.

Avoid that question, Taylor.

“If we want to avoid anarchy, then action needs to be taken.”

“Would I be remiss in assuming that you have a specific response in mind?”

How much should I say? Songbird had advised being vague. I was leaning towards following that advice, despite my initial belief that the priests would be trustworthy. It disappointed me, but it was only a minor setback. If I had to rip out corruption in the church at its roots to obtain the outcome I wanted, then… the church was in for a thorough pruning.

“We need to find every hero we can and recruit them to our cause. Organize. Act as a stabilizing force in the times ahead.”

“I believe it would be best for you to wait before you share the lay of your thoughts.”

“What?” my eyes narrowed.

“A minor gathering was arranged at the Starlit Cloister between those of us present in Salia once I had already received and responded to your missive. I would have brought up the matter earlier, but delayed in light of your meal. I trust that you do not mind?”

The words sounded apologetic, but I knew otherwise.

“When?”

“I suggest we venture forth soon if you intend for us to arrive before the meeting begins.”

It was as I had expected. I was being ambushed. She had waited until the last possible moment before springing this on me. I was unamused. If the Holies thought to play games with me when the Principate was in a state of turmoil, then they were biting off more than they could chew.

“Let’s go.”

She stood up, then I trailed behind her white and gold figure as she led the way. We left the Selandine Basilica. The two of us stepped into a waiting carriage outside the Basilica that had been painted the same shades as sister Dominique’s robes.

“Salia is the jewel of Calernia, don’t you agree?” Sister Dominique asked.

“It is,” I answered absently.

I allowed the clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves and merchants on the streets hawking their wares to drown out my interlocutor. It didn’t take long for conversation to peter out. The two of us sat in silence while I pondered the trap that I was about to face. And it was a trap. That much I was certain of.

How was I planning to approach this? The Holies wanted something from me. They also believed me to be someone who could be manipulated to their ends. Why? What gave them that impression? I wasn’t the Saint of Swords, but I also wasn’t toothless. Their decision baffled me.

I considered what kind of impression that I may have given them.

I would bet they knew every piece of correspondence that had passed through all of the many churches I had visited. Those fell into two categories. Political inquiries and warnings about the future. The former would include vague statements of my broader goals, without any of the finer details. Those would paint me as an idealist. A dreamer.

Someone whose vision would be viewed as unachievable.

That fit with the angelic Choir that had chosen me. Every hero who represented the Choir of Compassion was a dreamer. We all wanted the world to be perfect. We all wanted everyone to care for each other. Most of us swore off violence, but I hadn’t. That made me unusual, but… my family had hinted that I was not the only one of their heroes who had drawn blades, just the most recent one. Once long ago Compassion had been Reverence, and Reverence did not hesitate to fight.

I wondered what that meant for the future of the Choir if they were permitting acts of violence once more.

The wheels of the carriage rattled against the road as we ascended the shallow slope of the Upper Yearning. At least people did not stop and point at me. My glow was difficult to see through the glass of the carriage window.

What else did they know?

Well, they knew that I had an existing relationship with Cordelia Hasenbach. I doubted they knew the specifics, but they likely knew I was cordial with her. They would know about the various conflicts I had been involved in, and that I had returned from a journey into the Chain of Hunger.

Aisne.

That would be it.

They knew I was an idealist and that I had failed at politicking in Aisne. They would also know that I had a negative disposition towards most of the Proceran nobility. The fact that I had political ambitions, but was unskilled at politics, would give them the impression that I was someone who could be used.

How could I take advantage of this?

I couldn’t pretend to be completely naive. That princess had already escaped captivity. That didn’t mean I couldn’t pretend to have less of an idea of what I wanted than I truly did. Was there a benefit in doing so? Possibly. I could also challenge their expectations. Present them with what I wanted right out the gate and put them on the back foot.

It all depended on what I saw when I arrived.

The carriage drew to a stop.

The two of us climbed out, then started to walk down the slate tile pathway lined by snow dusted hedges, leading up to the stairs marking the entrance to the cloister. The Starlit Cloister was secluded from the rest of the city. Immaculately cared for gardens surrounded it. The grass — green despite the turn of the season — was so even that I doubted even a single blade stuck up above the rest. There was irony in that, considering the men and women I was about to meet. The basalt building itself wasn’t as tall as many of the other Basilicas and Cathedrals I had passed, but no less impressive.

“It is a pity that our schedule is so tight. There is much beauty to be found in the Starlit Cloister. Pieces of art that one such as yourself would most assuredly appreciate.” Sister Dominique commented from my left.

“I’m sure.”

“There are paintings, sculptures, and tapestries dating back towards the First Crusade. Works crafted by the blessed that only the faithful ever lay their eyes on. No others are so fortunate. You should take the opportunity to appreciate them while you are in residence.”

What, does she expect me to live here?

Two of the silent monks seized the iron rings set into the thick double doors and opened them for us before we had even begun to ascend the stairs.

“Really?”

“Not even the First Prince may lay their eyes on all the wonders of the Starlit Cloister,” Sister Dominique stated in satisfaction.

“What if they’re visiting?”

We entered the building. Sister Dominique continued to lead the way. Several of the nuns bowed to the both of us as we delved deeper into what I was starting to see as the heart of the Proceran faith.

“Should the First Prince wish to entreat with the Holies, they would be required to submit to hour-long ablutions in a private garden set aside for that purpose. Their visit would be guided such that at no time they would step into parts of the cloister which are held to be sacrosanct.”

“I see.”

I supported the idea of princes being made to show humility before my Gods. I’d seen enough of the nobility to believe that an indirect encounter with an Angel might do them some good. The adjustment in their perspective would make the world a better place once they realized how fickle their power was. That wasn’t the impression I was receiving here. It sounded more like the princes were being made to show humility before the priests.

That didn’t sit well with me.

More because of what it did to the egos of the priests, then what it meant for the princes.

I added it to the list of changes I wanted as we continued down the chequered corridor lined with basalt pillars that bulged at the waist. We arrived at a thick oaken gate. Loud sounds of jubilation could be heard from the other side of the door. Sister Dominique reached forward, seized the brass ring in front and opened the door.

I now understand why the Merry Monk force-fed one of the Holies until they died of over-consumption.

It took effort for me to hide my tells. For me to contain my outrage. It was the most furious I could remember being in an aeon. The word heretics burned at the edge of my tongue. Were it not for the support of my family, I might not have managed to suppress my anger.

Their dreams made me want to cut them all down.

They were faithful. Technically. They dreamed that the church should rule the Principate. I moved my gaze from one to the next as fast as I could. Power. Power. Power. That was what they dreamed of. The Gods were the ultimate power in Creation. They saw themselves as the most important non-heroic mortal representatives of the Gods, and some of them wavered on the brink of seeing themselves above heroes as well. They dreamed of themselves ruling over all others, handing down edicts from Above.

While I suspected that all of them had sworn off violence, I didn’t believe that meant much. Not with how their dreams glorified the suffering of those they did not approve of. There was no compassion in their dreams. They were fanatics of the worst kind. Those who saw no value in anybody who did not share their beliefs. While I was willing to acknowledge that I was a zealot myself, I liked to think of myself as the good kind of religious extremist. My beliefs did not discriminate against helping those that did not share my faith.

I’d known from the start that being Good did not necessarily mean being good. That it would be my version of what Good was, competing against countless others. That did not make me any less disappointed by what I saw. I wouldn’t have been offended had they all worshipped the Gods Below. At least then they wouldn’t be pretending to be good according to the virtues espoused in a book that I did not agree with verbatim, but approved of enough to consider one who followed it virtuous. It was the fact that these men and women claimed to be the best of us — the bastions of light amidst the sea of darkness — that lit the furnace of my rage.

They were all liars and hypocrites.

The only way I could see them benefitting Good is if I squinted through a dirty lens. Perhaps they helped achieve a “greater good,” in some way. It was unfortunate for them that I no longer believed in peddling lesser evils or greater goods.

Not one of you will remain in power by the time I am done with the church.

The scope of my plans would need adjusting.

I came to a halt as I stepped through the door. I wasn’t sure if the crimson hornets buzzing behind my eyes showed on my face.

“Is something the matter, Chosen?” Sister Dominique asked, affecting concern.

She had been at the razor edge of what I was willing to tolerate. The rest of them were not.

“It’s just a lot to take in,” I lied, keeping my breathing measured as I gestured towards the long table where the Holies were seated.

Some men and women decked in white and gold looked up from their chairs as we entered. Ornate golden cloches sat atop a delicate white lace tablecloth that was weighted down by elegant glass droplets dangling off the edge. The dishes contained a wide array of edibles. More than I could recognize.

Royal purple tapestries were draped across the right walls and paintings clung to the left. The opposite end of the room was open, with a fountain gurgling in the background. A golden candelabra hung over the table.

“Isn’t it heartening to see the faithful receiving the respect they are due?”

“Definitely,” I agreed.

It was a pity that the two of us had differing opinions on what that respect should look like.

“Sister Dominique, Chosen, come join us in our feasting.” A corpulent man on the left-hand side of the table beside a boar with an apple in its mouth called out and gestured enthusiastically at us.

“I’ve already eaten,” I replied, but took a seat on the teak chair beside the man nonetheless. It was one of the few that remained open.

The table was stacked with everything I could imagine. From exotic out of season fruits to fine cuts of meat. The sights, the smells, everything about the table was a feast for the senses.

Everything except the people seated at it.

I wondered why Sister Dominique had fed me if she knew I would be arriving at a scene like this. Perhaps to alienate me? Make me the only person at the table not participating in the festivities? The Holies had already moved to put me on the back foot, which came as an unwelcome surprise. I’d expected us to be allies, not enemies under the same banner.

“It is a pity that you are unable to partake,” a green-eyed woman commiserated. I had to squint around the glazed duck to see her properly.

With her long nose and narrow face, she looked a little like a white peacock.

“It’s fine.”

“Your warnings forestalled much trouble within the House,” the woman continued, placing her silver knife and fork down with care on her empty plate below.

“Really?”

“A missive was sent to the House of Light from a scriptorium in Bayeux inquiring into whether texts commissioned by one of our lay brothers to be replicated several times over were heretical or not. If it were not for your warnings, the matter might not have been investigated. He was almost apprehended while attempting to nail one of the few copies he succeeded in having transcribed onto a church door.”

Martin Luther.

“What did his manuscripts say?”

“They were naught more than vile calumny. Slanderous claims that those of us at the upper echelons of the faith are perverting the intent of the House of Light.”

“Did he write about anything else?”

“The heretic preaches of a common church of man. He asserts that the Holies have no claim to authority over the House of Light, as the Gods Above did not ordain our positions when granting us leave to wield the Light and only confirmed our faith. A blasphemous idea, don’t you agree?”

Wait what?

“There’s plenty of blasphemy about this.” I allowed my anger at them to bleed through.

“You do intend to apprehend the villain soon.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I’ll apprehend him all right. The two of us can do far more working together than alone.

It felt odd to be in a position where I wished that I knew more about religion on Earth Bet. I knew whose story this was, but little else. I didn’t know more than the barest skeleton of his story. It was frustrating. I knew it was unrealistic to expect every new Name to be one that I recognized, but it would be so much simpler if his Name was one taken out of English literature.

It wasn’t.

But even if I didn’t know much about him, after meeting the Holies… I was leaning towards him being a hero and not a villain.

“That is music to all of our ears,” she sent a dragon-like grin my way.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

Other conversations had continued as we talked, but people’s voices had dropped to murmurs. I could see them watching the both of us like vultures examining a corpse out of the corner of their eyes. This priestess was clearly important. They were allowing her to take the lead.

“I’m Sister Adelie. It’s a pleasure to count you among us, Chosen.”

“How do you plan to deal with this?”

“Would that we could act, only our hands are tied,” Sister Adelie sounded apologetic. I wasn’t buying it.

“In what way?”

“In the past we could function unimpeded, but our influence has waned with the passage of years. The House of Light is denied a standing army, and all but the southernmost principalities bar us the right to recruit warrior monks to our cause. The Lycaonese do not even permit us to own the land where our churches reside.”

“Surely you’ve done something?”

“Word is being delivered to every ear loyal to the Gods Above. It is being carried to all that can be reached, from the princes of Procer to the Citizens of Ashur. How they choose to interpret your words…” she shrugged, “is in their hands. The authority to serve further has not been extended to us. We will offer our guidance, shelter behind our walls, and work to mend wounds, but to reach beyond that is to threaten another Liturgical War.”

Somehow I suspected that it wasn’t the idea of a war that bothered her, but more the fact that the House of Light would lose it.

How much do I say?

This was a delicate situation. I wanted to be rid of all of them, and I wanted to do it legally. I was certain that they had enough skeletons in their confessional booths that if I dug them out, I could see all of them removed. The problem was doing it without having the church’s power curtailed in the process.

What would Songbird do?

I needed to play both sides here. I wanted oversight over a functional House of Light. It wasn’t important for me to manage the parts of the faith that they were currently responsible for, but I wasn’t willing to relinquish authority over what I wanted to introduce. That meant I’d need to offer Cordelia something — probably the removal of the Holies — and offer these carrion eaters something else.

They were lucky I wasn’t Laurence. I’d be taking a hatchet to the rot if I were, rather than finding a way for it to fade gently into the night.

“Then we will need to change that.”

“It is rumoured that you have the ear of the Lycaonese Prince. How amenable do you believe she would be to a proposal if you were to present it?”

Careful.

“It depends,” I kept my voice as carefree as I could. “I’ll need scribes. Many of them.”

“For what purpose?” the man beside me asked.

The hem of his robe brushed my hand as he grasped a chicken leg with a greasy hand and added it to his platter. I pulled my hands off the table and onto my lap. Sister Adelie glared his way for only a moment before her gaze softened and returned to me.

“Recording stories. It should help mitigate chaos if people have some idea of what to expect.”

“I’ll make some of our scribes available to you,” Sister Adelie replied.

“There’s more. I want to create resources for heroes to draw upon. Tools, information, teachers, weapons, communications networks. The church has the ability to help there.”

I’d start with the less dangerous requests.

“What you ask for would serve as cause for deliberation in better years. They are an unwelcome burden in light of the oncoming storm.”

“I can contribute in other ways.”

Sister Adelie paused and took a sip of her wine. Her eyes narrowed in thought.

“It sounds as if you have higher ambitions for the church.”

“I do. I’m not happy with how much the House of Light has been restricted.”

There. The bait is set.

“Then you would see our wings unclipped?” She blinked and almost smiled. The gold of one of the cloches reflected in her eyes.

“I would. I have proposals I’d like you to look over. They aren’t with me right now.”

“I suggest that we meet at another time to discuss the merits of your proposals further.”

“That sounds fine.”

A low murmured chorus of approval echoed across the table.

Conversation continued for a while, but shifted towards small talk. Others occasionally added their own thoughts. I made sure to avoid committing to anything until I’d spoken to Songbird. I left the Starlit Cloister after setting a later date to speak with Sister Adelie, although there was an unspoken offer for me to remain in the cloister.

There was much for me to think about.

I considered it all while walking back to our temporary residence.

First came thoughts of not-Lisa. They were more conflicted but less anger inducing than thoughts about the Holies. I didn’t think I’d be able to redeem Tattletale if I met her today. I wasn’t certain if I’d be able to redeem her at the start of her journey. Her story was a villain’s story. I had no doubt about that. The smart decision would be for me to leave dealing with her to somebody else. I knew that I was emotionally compromised.

I didn’t want to leave this to somebody else.

What should I do?

I prayed. My family reassured me that I would be fine. I should resolve this myself. It would be a chance for me to lay one of my own demons to rest.

Snow fell around me, but I remained warm. My light kept the cold at bay.

I passed beneath a stand of poplars as my mind moved towards my next concern.

I wasn’t certain what to do about Not-Martin Luther, but I was willing to bet that he would be helpful towards my goals. Roland had volunteered to help with finding heroes. I’d ask him if he was prepared to look for the man.

That left the church. The anger I had felt before had cooled in the time since I had left. Cooled and frozen over into an ice-cold rage. The church would need to be handled carefully. I’d need Songbird’s help to concoct the right kind of scheme.

I wouldn’t be satisfied until the Holies were unseated and work had begun on organizing the other heroes within the Principate under the umbrella of the House of Light. This was my mess. I’d made the bet that I could organize the chaos that would come from this choice. Now I had to validate that decision.

I ignored the suggestive sign outside the establishment as I entered the Snake’s Nest and wiped off my feet before making my way to the suite we had rented out on the second floor. The hinges of the garish purple door creaked as I turned the rusted iron handle.

Thunk.

“Is anyone here?”

Thunk.

It was quiet except for a repeated knocking sound. My toes relaxed as they moved off the cold, hard wooden floor and sunk into the soft, red carpet.

Thunk.

I entered the parlour.

Songbird had her back to me. She was throwing knives at a dartboard on the wall before examining her shot and then retrieving them afterwards. Her posture was loose, her head cocked to one side, and her attention was entirely devoted to the target. Roland was nowhere to be found.

“Why is nobody…” my voice trailed off as I looked to my left.

Yvette was scrunched up in her green tunic. She was almost fused to the leather couch she sat on beside the rickety coffee table. Her eyes were red.

One of her dreams was brittle. It was teetering on the edge of breaking.

I didn’t often think about Yvette’s dreams. It felt like I was invading her privacy if I did. This dream was one that I frequently assured her that she had already achieved. It wasn’t her only dream, but it was one that shouldn’t worry her.

She wanted to make her mother proud of her.

I bolted across the carpet, completely forgetting what else was on my mind.

“What happened?”

She looked away from me, averting her eyes.

I knelt down and seized her in a hug.

At least she didn’t flinch.

It wasn’t something that I had done.

“Please tell me,” I kept my voice soft. “I’ll try to help. Promise.”

She remained unresponsive, just sniffed and rocked from side to side.

“Yvette ran into someone while she was out with Roland,” Songbird answered my question. Her voice had a hard edge. “Someone who made a big fuss, said some words to both of them, then ran off.”

“Where’s Roland?”

“He’s taking a walk to clear his head. Said he’d be back later.”

“Was it a man or a woman?”

Songbird told me what Roland had told her. I asked another question, then another. My suspicion grew with every added detail.

It was the new person with Tattletale’s story, and she was already tearing apart other people’s lives. This time it was the lives of people I cared about.

Do you still want me to try to redeem her?

The arm of the chair groaned as I gripped it tighter.

My faith required that I try to help her. My own feelings demanded the opposite.

I wasn’t sure what to do.