When Heroes Die

“When the hundred gathered priests-elect of the Hallowed burned out their souls to summon forth one of the Seraphim at the shores of Lake Artoise, Triumphant did strike it down. In her parting words — her voice thick with disappointment — she declared: ‘That's it?’”

— Extract from the Scroll of Dominion, twenty-fourth of the Secret Histories of Praes

“Y’need to get back to your guards fast,” the bloodied mess that was Songbird muttered from beside me.

“And you need to tell me why you tried to get yourself killed,” I snapped her way.

I pulled her jerkin back in place as I finished healing her, then helped her back to her feet. She groaned as both of us left our knees. Gore matted her ponytail, leaving it an ugly mess that didn’t suit her at all.

“M’serious. We gotta walk fast. No flying ball. Angels fly, priestesses walk. You shouldn’t’ve flown,” she pressed a bloodied palm against the adjacent baked brick wall to support herself as she chastised me.

Songbird’s brown eyes had a fevered light to them. She was shivering, and it wasn’t from the cold.

“Why did you make this plan? I’m not letting this go, Song,” I poked my bloodied finger against the leather covering her arm.

“Y’need to get back to your guard and then take a stroll to the cathedral together. Hopefully this story calls for a priestess and not an Angel. It prob’ly doesn’t.”

That finally caught my attention. My focus shifted, considering the pieces. I had asked her not to put me into the Role of an Angel, now it sounded like she did. I needed to know everything. It was important to determine if she’d burned her final candle, or if this was done in good faith.

“We’ll talk while we walk. Tell me everything.”

I reached down and picked up her bloodied short swords by the hilt from the ground, reversed my grip, then handed them back to her. She took them. Her hands gripped them tight. It was as if they offered comfort from the fight that had occurred. Then she paused, shook her head and tossed them aside. They clattered on the ground beside one of the corpses.

“Blade’s in bad shape after the tussle. Could get it fixed, but better to leave it. A replacement will be better,” she muttered to herself.

“Don’t leave them there,” I scolded.

“The guard’ll return and look over the scene. Not that they’ll complain about a heroic tussle. It’s best for us to leave this to them.”

“Fine.”

We both walked around the corpses as we began our journey back to Blaise and Michel.

“Y’need to remember. What you do is prob’ly going to change based on what happens next. Angels don’t have bodyguards. Priestesses do. Angels don’t negotiate, they make proclamations, then punish anyone who dares to break them for hubris. Priestesses negotiate and solve problems with diplomacy.” Songbird continued to ramble.

Her steps were unsteady, and she was leaning against me as she walked. She had lost a lot of blood.

“Songbird-”

“M’serious,” she interjected. Her voice was devoid of levity. “Promise to remember that. S’the difference between us winning and losing.”

“I promise,” I replied. “Now talk. Why did you arrange for someone to stab you?”

We passed gawking crowds of people as we left the alleyway. They saw me and started to whisper, but otherwise didn’t approach.

Then they saw Songbird and started to make space for me to pass.

The gesture was appreciated.

“Only some plans called for being stabbed,” she protested.

“I’m not convinced.”

We passed a tavern, then stepped out onto the main thoroughfare.

“M’not lying to you. Promise. Any plan where Pascal didn’t betray us ends without me being stabbed. Some of the ones where he did betray us end the same way too.” Songbird let out a hacking cough.

My heart clenched.

“You relied on Esme.”

We paused, looked over the crowd on the main road, and searched for a way through.

“Nah. That would’ve been stupid. Roland’s in that tavern over there resolving business with some contacts of his,” she pointed. “I told him to sort that out today. He’d’ve found a reason to leave earlier and help me if Esme didn’t step in. Dashing rogue helps the damsel in distress. He’d also have found a reason to leave early if Yvette caused some magical disaster and prevented it.”

Yvette causes a magical disaster? Why is that even part of this!

“Doesn’t seem like much of a plan.”

Someone in the crowd noticed us. Space magically materialized a second time. We started to walk away from the cathedral towards where I had left my guards.

“Pascal could’ve betrayed us, or not betrayed us, or just not gone to the conclave, but I doubted that would happen. Esme could’ve not found me, or found me but chose to leave ‘pending on how she fit into the story. Yvie… either someone tries to abduct her, or she wanders into the temple, or she does nothing at all. There’s also other considerations.”

I assumed that she angered Esme to put her in a position where she would help someone she wanted vengeance against but…

“Why did you think Esme would help you at all?”

“It’s the paradox of Esme. She disdains individuals who won’t ‘get their hands dirty’ like you, but those are the only people pure enough to not fall under her scrutiny. S’pose she hurt you the same way she was hurt, then she’d be betraying her own beliefs by turning herself into the people that she despises.”

And having Songbird die would do that. It fit, but there was still so much left to chance.

“This sounds less like a plan and more like a lot of loose puzzle pieces floating around.”

“S’how stories work. S’like juggling hundreds of knives while balancing on a lion’s tail. The more knives that’re in the air, the better the performance, but the greater the chance of being bitten, scratched or stabbed. Settling on only one plan would be stupid, and expecting all of them to work would be bad as well. S’more important to make opportunities. Put people where they need to be for lotsa things to happen, then adjust as specific pieces fall into place. S’all about organizing the chaos once it begins so that it ends to your advantage. We gotta hope that people can improvise if everything falls through, though.”

It explained why she didn’t have us all together and instead split the group. I hadn’t liked splitting the group in the past, but perhaps if we did it in a more calculated manner then it could work to our advantage rather than be a weakness. Arrange the board so that more of the potential stories had good endings than bad, then prune them as everything plays out.

Still… there were so many loose threads.

“How can you plan like that at all?”

“M’counting on people’s nature. Say Yvie sees Esme doing something shady, she’ll follow and investigate. Maybe Pascal’s feeling ‘specially stupid today and thinks trying to kidnap Yvie is a good idea. Well, heroic rogues help imperilled kids. The priestess is out healing people. She’s around when something goes wrong to step in. S’all about nature and Role.”

Songbird waved her hand in front of her theatrically. The effect was spoiled by all the blood.

“Why did you set me up as an Angel?”

“Would you rather be an Angel or risk a Liturgic war?”

I grimaced. I didn’t like the idea of playing the Role of an Angel regardless, but if I had to make that choice… the former.

“Was it the end state of every plan you put together?” I demanded.

The crowd thinned out as we drew further away from the cathedral. I hadn’t been helping that close to the conclave, although I had been within a reasonable distance of it. Large crowds were excuses for people to become violent, and so I had decided that it was best to remain close enough to at least hear shouts of pain.

“Course not. It was a contingency. Esme’s the Inquisitor. She’s good at dealing with heretics. Dunno if she’s good enough on her own. Didn’t want to risk her failing, then not having a solution. S’where Yvie comes in. She can pull off an Angel summoning. If Esme succeeds, then y’don’t need to worry.”

“Okay. Any other advice on being an Angel?”

It was best that I be prepared in the event that I needed to.

“Plenty. Angels do big miracles when they appear. Angels don’t lie, or debate mortal politics ‘cept where they intersect with the divine. They focus on their duty and don’t talk about themselves. Y’cant invite one over for tea.”

“They would invite people over for tea if they were capable of it and if the tea would help alleviate the person’s problems.”

“S’not the point. Y’should also declare everything you legally want to change. Just tell people how you plan to organize the church. They’ll go along with it as is, if you’re careful enough.”

“I get that you didn’t tell everyone this with potential traitors around. I don’t like how much of it relied on luck, but… in future I’d like to know more.”

“M’not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“I only told you all of this because s’really easy for you to mess up and end up as a priestess instead of an Angel. M’pretty sure stories will be stronger if you fit into them without assistance and aren’t walked through them step by step. S’pose it’s only natural y’don’t entirely trust them given the circumstances, but you’ll need to learn to.”

“We’ll see.”

“Y’should also consider doing the whole dramatic speech thing. Pretend you’re Alamans. You’ve got the accent, now you just need the theatre.”

“I expect you to start writing bawdy songs about our adventures at this rate,” I muttered.

“Oh, that’s prob’ly a good idea. There once was a-” she let out another hacking cough and stopped singing.

I reached towards her quickly and tried healing her again. Nothing wrong, just lack of liquids.

“You need to drink. No exerting yourself.”

“S’pose I’ll save the songs ‘bout roaming eyes and desires unspent for later,” Songbird teased.

“Just give me more advice,” I sighed.

Songbird continued to tell me about the different elements of her plan as we searched for my guards. I wasn’t happy with her being stabbed or with my potential summoning, but her explanation did mollify me.

“Over there,” Songbird pointed out the two figures standing beside a dingy shop. Our pace picked up.

Then I felt an invisible tug.

“Ma!” the words called to me from far away.

Great. It seems I’m being an Angel after all.

My mood soured.

I allowed the call to pull me to where I needed to go. It felt like flowing along the current of a fast moving river. I recalled Songbird’s advice.

I need a miracle. Something suitably impressive to step into the Role.

What would work? Contrition forced people to feel contrite. That wouldn’t work for me. If I was to be an Angel, then I would play the part of an Angel of Redemption. How about… My family gave me a silent nudge. Yes, that would work. It was complicated. Something far beyond what I could even dream of performing without angelic assistance, but they were more than willing to guide me through this.

Even better, I’d have the memory of what they did to learn from in future.

Two ghosts vanished. The gentle caress of the Light flowed through me. Darkness, a flash, then I was standing in a cathedral. Light flowed out from me and bathed the pillars, arches, stained-glass windows and pews painted in white. The entire cathedral flickered for a heartbeat. It was an understated miracle. Something that was not flashy, but was impactful to those affected by it.

I could experience only the echo of the miracle as it flowed through me. I doubted that I would have been able to catch glimpses into what the priests saw if I wasn’t a physical manifestation of the Light myself. Then again, channelling something like this would kill me in those circumstances.

The miracle came in two parts.

First, memories of the past. The lives of those subject to it lived through one moment at a time. For every selfish decision that was made, a question was asked. What if?

I wasn’t pleased with what I perceived.

What if they hadn’t allowed the noble to disown the child for an additional donation to the church, or if the coin was used to help people rather than for personal fulfilment? How might their lives have gone? How many people might have been saved and what friends may they have made along the way?

Then the questions that were asked were answered.

I wasn’t sure if the answers were real or only hypothetical, but they were plausible enough that either option could be true. Chains of causality, following through the lives of the priests and extending out from birth all the way into the now. For but a moment they could glimpse time as a tree branching off and see the satisfaction they might derive from making the world a better place.

The child was inconvenient. He refused to scheme to fit the nobility’s ends, and they would not tolerate this. Better to bribe the clergy and have him disowned. But the priests refused. The child was deemed worthy. The nobility ignored the statements of the priests and tried to proceed without approval. The peasantry learned of their actions. Their reputation was soiled. The child rose into prominence and took over.

Coin was invested in the church in thanks. He died from drinking a poisoned wine during a trade agreement with a peer among the nobility. It was still a tragedy, but more good was done during his brief tenure than in the now.

Another what if. What if one of the Holies did not drive a wizard to poverty for attempting to charge for healing during their youth? The event branched off, played out. How many lives were saved, how many were ended. What would the world have been like if the choices the Holies had made were less self-centred?

And another.

What if the priest hadn’t advised Prince Dagobert to try for the crown? The priest believed that extending the war was in the best interest of the House of Light. Every death during the war eroded faith in the nobility and provided more leverage to the church. That people would reach for the Gods during times of troubles, so seeding disaster was the best way to grow the power of the Church. The war may have ended a full decade earlier without that priest’s interference.

I was horrified.

The visions continued.

There was no judgement, no demand for the clergy to do better. Redemption couldn’t be forced on someone — doing so stripped it of all meaning — they had to decide it for themselves. There was only one question, repeated over and over into eternity. What if?

All of them caught a glimpse of the lives they might have lived. How much happier they might have been. The rewards they might have earned and the friends they might have made. An entire life’s worth of memories, condensed into a few heartbeats and somehow made comprehensible.

Things that could have happened if the priests had chosen to do the right thing instead of the wrong one. It was almost like a mix of Clairvoyant’s power, Tattletale’s power and Dinah’s power blended into one harmonious whole with the sole purpose of extrapolating an alternate past following the lives of better versions of every priest.

The miracle came to an end.

Everyone inside the cathedral trembled. It took effort for me to remain standing up straight. I clasped my hands together behind my own back to hide my own shivers. The source of mine was different. The miracle had taken much from me in its complexity. It was the kind of divine working that I could only dream of performing on my own.

I started to speak.

“Redemption is a road that begins but never ends. What if all of you had been better people? Now you know the answer. Let every action you take make the world a better place. Strive to further the cause of our Gods because it is right, not because it enriches you. This is your charge, your duty, your burden.”

I hoped that this was enough. That Pascal wouldn’t contest me.

I took a moment to examine the room.

Yvette, the guards and Esme all flanked me. Esme stood tall and proud, with bloody hands, her black hair flowing over her shoulders, and a haughty expression on her face. It hadn’t cracked, despite what I had unleashed in the room. Yvette trembled. Her eyes jumped from one person to another, and her fingers twitched like rabbit’s ears.

It was as if she was preparing to cast a spell.

I wasn’t sure why she was worried about the other priests. Only the silent monks would resort to violence, the other priests were all sworn to pacifism. Actually… a group of silent monks were in the process of approaching. Their progress had stalled when my miracle was deployed, but there was at least some evidence of hostile action.

I turned my eyes towards the stage. The Holies sat tied to chairs at the feet of the stairs, facing towards the audience. All of them looked miserable. Pascal was behind them on the stage with an organ towering behind him. He stood tall, unbowed, with his hands gripping the sides of a lectern tightly. A fevered look sparkled in his eyes.

… He wasn’t about to gracefully bow out of this contest.

Nobody said a word. It was as if the entire room was collectively holding their breath, waiting for me to continue speaking.

Declarations, not negotiations.

I felt my family blanketing me in warmth. It did nothing to quell how queasy I felt stepping into this Role.

I’ll pray for forgiveness afterwards.

“This ends here.” The words reverberated across the hall.

“Greetings, sister. You are late to follow us in our righteous cause,” Pascal raised his palms in greeting as he spoke.

His voice was strained, and his fingers shook, although he tried to obscure both signs of weakness.

Talk over him. An Angel is not going to engage him in a debate.

I lifted a finger that weighed a mountain, and pointed it towards the Holies.

“Those who claim to be most holy have been found guilty of perversion of divine purpose, spreading of strife, corruption, embezzlement, misallocation of church funds among many other wrongs. They will strive to earn redemption serving in the northern principalities, helping to drive back the undead.”

I turned my attention towards the Reformist. This was where matters became more complicated.

Don’t talk about evidence of guilt. Evidence implies room to negotiate, and that’s a mistake.

“It is good that we are in accord, sister. This villain seeks to undermine the very foundations of our faith. You should-”

My finger wobbled upward towards Pascal.

Don’t mention mortal politics. Angels don’t care about mortal politics.

“This man is guilty of perverting divine purpose in his desire to further earthly pursuits. He sought to wield the House of Light as a weapon to champion his own personal vendetta against sorcery. The Gods Above have not declared possession of an innate talent for sorcery to be Evil.” I spoke over him.

“It is not your place to judge me, sister. You hold no more authority than I do. All of us are equal under the banner of our Gods, and my cause is just as righteous as your own,” Pascal stated.

Ignore him or smite him, one of the two.

Figuring out how to blow up someone with the Light hadn’t taken me very long, although I hadn’t put it to use yet. Should I do it here? I didn’t like the idea of killing him, but I had made my peace with the possibility. I’d made more than one attempt to change Pascal’s mind, and if I was choosing between a Liturgical war and his life…

No, he hadn’t quite stepped past the line yet in the eyes of the other priests. I’d risk making him a martyr if it wasn’t done at the right moment, and I couldn’t afford that. It would mean spending years rooting out his poison from among the other priests. I needed to convince everyone that he was in the wrong before I attempted to do something like that.

… It was also tempting to challenge what he said, but I managed to hold my tongue. The moment I engaged him in an argument, I would cease to play the Role of an Angel and instead play the Role of a priestess. We were not equal at all in the story that I was trying to tell, and I shouldn’t trade words with him. I needed to bait him into saying the right thing with my own declarations to undermine what he was trying to build.

“Those of you who remain,” I made a wide, sweeping gesture to those seated below before hiding my hand behind my back again, “will toil to purge the rot from the House of Light. You will strive for redemption in your own way.”

“We can work to restore the House to the position it rightly deserves now that those who pervert our purpose have been pulled down from their lofty posts.”

“The accounts of the House of Light shall henceforth be made available to the public to scrutinize. The House of Light is an institution in service to the Gods, and its funds should be used appropriately,” I ignored Pascal.

Some Holies looked aghast at that declaration. None were stupid enough to protest.

“Wisdom is shown,” Pascal intoned. “Compassion is not the sole virtue of Above. You would do well to heed my own guidance in matters related to war.”

This is frustrating.

He knew better than to contest my position as a hero directly. Pascal made himself look more reasonable by supporting some of my declarations, and it wasn’t possible for me to say anything against him in reply.

“The Proceran House of Light will not be waging war against those with the gift of sorcery. Being born with magic does not make one Evil.”

“It is known that the Choir of Compassion fails to draw distinctions between Good and Evil. They only strive to ameliorate harm. Those two villains in your care are ample proof that the candle of compassion within you burns as brightly as it once did within the previous holders of your mantle. There is much to be admired about your convictions, but they are not the principles which should be used to lead us in times such as these.”

“Taylor will bring the wrath of the Gods down upon you if you attempt to incite another war. Does that make her a villain?” Esme interjected.

She shied away from me and her skin was an uncomfortable shade of red. Despite her clear discomfort, she was doing her part to help. That counted for a lot.

Bless you, Esme.

She must have realized that I couldn’t afford to argue with him and stepped up to assist me.

“The House of Light will allocate a portion of their funding to accumulate resources for the benefit of heroes within the Principate. Books to advance their knowledge. Tools to use. An effort will be made to document Namelore for the express purpose of guiding their journey.”

I couldn’t create the police force I wanted without approval from the Highest Assembly, but there was nothing preventing me from helping out heroes that already existed. Well, unless some new laws were passed.

“Whilst in princ-”

“Yes or no. Does that make her a villain?” Esme looked irritated at herself for interrupting Pascal, but went ahead and did it regardless.

“Should you be proven correct and Taylor does stand in direct opposition to me on this matter, then she furthers the cause of Below.”

“You show as much care as a ship navigating an unknown reef when you choose your words,” Esme’s lips curled into a snarl. “No different from the other white robed snakes slithering throughout these halls. Fly your own flag when you sail for once in your life, you spineless eel. Don’t hide beneath the surface of the waters.”

“The ancient rituals and requirements for the First Prince of Procer to abase themselves before the Holies at the Starlit Cloister will be repealed. The same holds true for many other archaic traditions, which serve no purpose in the present day.” I continued to proclaim the changes that were to come.

While that was a change that had to be voted on within the highest assembly to pass, I couldn’t imagine it not passing if the House of Light were the ones who brought it up. The faithful were the ones that were responsible for the requirements still existing, the princes were not. They would pounce on the opportunity to not need to humiliate themselves.

I would have liked to be able to proclaim that the House of Light would be setting up an order of paladins. I couldn’t. If I declared it and I failed to get approval, it became immediate grounds for a war. It was disappointing, but it would need to be a petition made to the Highest Assembly without the weight of this story behind it. There was too much at stake to risk it.

“To stand in support of sorcerers marks one as graceless,” Pascal tried to evade once more.

“And so if one were to follow the net you cast, they would find that you declare a hero of Compassion to stand without the grace of the gods,” Esme pressed.

“That is a deliberate misrepresentation of t-”

“You have challenged the righteousness of one sworn to an Angelic Choir.”

For the span of a heartbeat, the Cathedral drained of colour.

Pascal turned whiter than bone.

“You are attempting to-”

His attempt at verbal trickery was not quite good enough.

“You have the conviction of a sea snail and the righteousness of slime. Even the damned are worthy of more respect.” Esme sneered.

Don’t push your luck, Esme.

There was a crack. An Angel reached towards Pascal. It felt as if a flame within him had been snuffed out only a moment later.

The Light.

I hadn’t realized that I could sense the capacity to wield the Light inside of others. It made sense. I was made from the Light. It was like detecting a part of myself nestled within someone else.

Colour seeped back into the room.

Every eye was riveted on Pascal.

Would killing him be a mistake? This was a real judgement from a real Angel. They had stripped his Name from him. Judging him a second time might be overstepping. I… didn’t receive any sense of warning. Nor did I receive any guidance.

I’m not taking the risk.

There was a flash at the lectern as I embraced the Light.

A scintillating pillar descended from the ceiling and scoured the stage. For a moment, there was an after-image that flickered in and out of reality. Pascal. Eyes wide open, mouth scraping the floor, and hands raised up to the ceiling.

It disappeared only a few heartbeats later.

Pascal was gone.

Only an empty stage remained.

Nobody said a word as I walked into the air over the crowd on platforms of Light and took my place where Pascal had once stood.

I wasn’t going to parade him in front of people. I wasn’t intending to hold him as a prisoner and then allow the law to handle him, either. Both were forms of unnecessary cruelty, even if they might have made for a stronger story. The princes of Procer were... creative in their punishments for treason. Either option also created the opportunity for Pascal to escape and turn into a villain.

It wasn’t worth the risk.

Perhaps I had just made him into a martyr. I wasn’t sure. I was aware of more stories where a living Pascal caused more tragedy than the reverse.

This story was not as clean as I’d like.

I was upset that I hadn’t been able to convince Pascal that he was wrong. I had made a genuine effort and tried to help with his prejudices, but he wouldn’t set them aside. He had been warned. Told what would happen if he tried to cause a war. It was such an absolute waste that he had ignored every word that I said.

Not everyone can be redeemed, Taylor.

I took a deep breath. Breathed out. Breathed back in again.

“The Holies are not an officially recognized authority within the church and will be dissolved. The internal hierarchy of the Proceran House of Light will be made clear to all outsiders, with roles and responsibilities assigned. Each position will be assigned based on necessity and nothing more. The purpose of that authority is to help further the will of the Gods, it is not to enrich the priests. Those who abuse their power will be removed with appropriate haste.”

The Principate had no laws against the House of Light having an official leader, it only had laws against what that hypothetical leader could do. There was nothing stopping me from being in charge, so I’d put myself in charge. I had a plan for the actual hierarchy I wanted to put in place, but right now wasn’t the time to go into minutiae. It could wait for later.

“Who will lead us then?” Somebody called out from the audience.

Is this the right moment? Yes, yes it is.

Songbird had suggested dramatic Alamans declarations. So I’d give them one.

“I will do my utmost best to serve the House of Light as its High Priestess in the troubled times to come. I will shine as the final fire on a stormy night. The torch that guides those lost to Below through the murky swamp of their souls back into the service of Above. The light that pushes back the darkness when all other hope is lost. When the time comes that I am no longer required, I will step aside and make room for whoever comes after me. I do not seek power for my own sake, but only to further the purpose of our Gods. May they strike me down if any word I uttered was untrue.”

I stepped out of the shoes of an Angel back into ones that fit my feet.

No raging fires descended from the heavens.

None of the other priests contested my claim.

I tried to smile at the other priests and priestesses while my hands shook behind my back. It took far more effort than it was worth. I knew that out of the political fights to come, this would be one of the easier battles I fought.

I was a Named priestess with a lot of power and a much bigger claim to authority than anyone except for possibly a White Knight. The question was never whether I could take control of the House of Light, it was whether I could do it in a manner that others deemed acceptable.

The floor of the Highest Assembly loomed over me like a Ratling appraising its next meal.

Out of all the political battles that I was expecting to fight, I suspected that it would be the hardest one.