Duskfall (13 page)

Nash frowned. If Kali contacted anyone from the Triad it was Kosarin—Kali was his star pupil, after all—or Sirana. Those two handled all the logistics of the organization. Rune was the third member of the Triad that governed the Nazaniin, but he was rarely involved in fieldwork.

Nash looked at their lacuna, Elsi. The thing must have been standing in the corner of the room, in the dark, for hours. Nash shivered. “So we found some tiellans who may, or may not, help us find Lathe. Why does Rune need to know?”

“The fact that we found them isn’t the issue,” Kali said, closing the curtain and turning to face Nash. “I never thanked you for that. I didn’t think your idea to look through the tiellan quarter had merit, but you proved me wrong.”

In all honesty, Nash hadn’t expected much success. But he had overheard the girl, and something had piqued his interest. Nash wasn’t completely surprised; he had learned to trust his instincts.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said.

“We need to talk to Rune,” Kali said, “because the girl is a variant.”

Nash stared at her.

“That’s impossible.”

Kali laughed, but the sound was strained. “No need to tell me that. I’m fully aware of its impossibility.”

“You’re sure?”

“Sure as I can be without testing her,” she said. “All the signs are there, in her mind. That’s why I couldn’t excavate her.”

Acumens like Kali could detect psimantic potential, so Nash didn’t doubt her. And, as Nash considered it, he began to wonder.

“You think she’s the Harbinger?” Less of a question than a statement, though the irony of it wasn’t lost on him. Many in the Nazaniin, Kali included, believed the prophecies pointing towards a tiellan Harbinger were misinterpreted; they refused to believe that a being of such power could be a tiellan and not a human.

But, if this girl was a psimancer, she could change everything.

Of course, Kali had other reasons for being upset that a tiellan might be the Harbinger. He might feel the same way, had tiellans done that to his family.

“I don’t know,” Kali said. “She could be the first tiellan psimancer of the People’s Age. She could be the first tiellan psimancer in recorded
history
. As much as I hate to admit it, the girl could be the Harbinger. I’ll need to test her, of course, but if she is what I think she is…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence. If this girl was the Harbinger, there were dark days ahead.

“The purification of war…” Nash whispered, his mind racing.

“And the stillness of death,” Kali finished. It was one of the Nazaniin Prophecies of the Harbinger. The Harbinger, who would bring unity through fire, and peace with the sword.

“How did Rune not see this?” Nash asked. The man was supposed to be the most powerful voyant in the Sfaera.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to ask him,” Kali said. She pulled out the voidstone and closed her eyes. “Make sure the elves don’t interrupt,” she said. “They’re not ready for this type of psimancy. Not yet.”

Nash would keep watch, of course. But he wanted to hear what Rune had to say. For a moment, he wished he was an acumen, so he could see Rune’s face. Nash smiled. Watching Rune realize that someone may have found out about the Harbinger before he had would be a beautiful thing.

C
INZIA STARED AT HER
sister in disbelief.

“You found them
under a rock
?” Cinzia asked. “You claim to have the Nine Scriptures, the most sought-after treasure of the ages, one of the most coveted relics in Cantic history, and you are telling me you found them under a
rock
?”

They were arguing in Jane’s bedroom—the room they had once shared.

Jane’s face crumpled into a scowl, but Cinzia did not care. Jane was being unreasonable. Not to mention blasphemous. Little remained of the act they had put on for their family—Cinzia realized that it had indeed been an act. The embrace. The hand-holding. Cinzia felt affection for her sister, but there was more between them. It was complicated, and Cinzia did not see how it could become uncomplicated.

“You cannot expect me to believe this, Jane. It is nonsense. Complete and utter fantasy. I love you, but this is the sort of thing I cannot—and will not—condone. I am of half a mind to let the Crucible have you.”

Cinzia immediately regretted that last statement..

“I did not just find them
under a rock
,” Jane said. “I did not trip in the woods and find a pile of books.” Jane grew somber. “It is so much
more
than that.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Cinzia did not know what to say. It was obvious: in the seven years since she had left, her sister had gone completely mad.

“You will understand in time,” Jane said, more quietly.

Jane was maddeningly calm. She had shown brief flashes of irritation, but if Cinzia was honest,
she
was the one losing control. It was odd. Jane, as wonderful and outgoing a girl as she had been when they were little, had had a fierce temper. The Jane that Cinzia remembered would have begun yelling and trying to tear Cinzia’s hair out some time ago. But Jane was calm, taking everything in her stride. Mostly everything, anyway.

I will understand in time? What in the Sfaera is that supposed to mean?

“I
understand
the situation perfectly,” Cinzia said. “My sister is a heretic. That is all there is to it.”

“You heard the rumors. Did you think we were doing this for fun? That things weren’t exciting enough in old Navone? Or maybe we just wanted you to visit your family, for once?”

Cinzia scowled, but did not meet Jane’s eyes. The underlying criticism filled her with guilt. Cinzia
could
have visited in the past seven years. But she had chosen not to.

And she resented Jane for bringing it up. This was not about Cinzia.

“What I mean,” Jane continued, “is that I have had a vision of you accepting this. You do not understand it now. How could you? You are a member of the Ministry. But you will, in time. I have seen it. That is Canta’s will.”

“You are having visions now, too?” Cinzia could not keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“I have been having visions for quite some time.”

Cinzia’s eyes snapped up. Whatever Jane had said before, about scriptures and the will of Canta, was nothing compared to the blasphemy she had just uttered.

“Wait,” Jane said quickly, and Cinzia sensed the worry in her voice. “Before you say anything rash—anything
else
rash—just listen to me.”

“I have heard enough,” Cinzia said, but she did not leave. Instead she sat down on the bed, resting her head in her hands. She was beginning to feel sick.

“I’m sorry, Cinzia, I began all of this in the wrong place. The scriptures, they are just the latest thing I have been given, the most recent piece of the puzzle. Let me start at the beginning.” She sat down next to Cinzia. “Four years ago I was in the chapel, during a sermon, and the priestess quoted from Nazira.” Nazira was not one of the original Nine Disciples, but a Cantic scholar whose works had become all but canonical scripture in the Denomination. “‘To those lost, and to those who seek wisdom, let them bow before Her; and she will bring light to their minds, and fire to their hearts, and will not turn away, but shall make all things known unto them.’ I have believed in Canta and in the Denomination for as long as I could remember. But so much was still a mystery. I thought if Canta were truly out there, she would want
all
of her children to know the truth. Not just the priestesses and disciples, not just the rich or the nobles or even just the humans. And that sermon seemed to be saying the same thing. So… I took Nazira’s advice. I prayed.”

Cinzia looked up. She had passed the point where she hoped all of this was some elaborate jest. This was real, and her sister was the center of it. Things were worse than she could have imagined. Only a select few of Canta’s children enjoyed communication—prayer—with Her: priestesses, matrons, and the other offices in the Denomination. Cantic doctrine was clear: to speak to Canta without one of Her appointed mediums was blasphemy, which could be punishable by death. Cinzia did not like the doctrine, but there it was.

She felt Jane’s hand on her arm.

“Please, do not say anything more, not until I have told you all that I am meant to tell you. Then, if you are still angry, so be it. But listen first.”

Cinzia looked at her sister, and then nodded. She might as well hear what Jane had to say.

“I prayed,” Jane said. “I went to Mount Madise, and prayed.” She squeezed Cinzia’s arm. “I received an answer, Cinzia.”

To Cinzia’s surprise, she felt no animosity at this statement.
Perhaps I have heard too much already. I am desensitized to heresy
. But she knew that was not the case. The truth was, she could not have described her response at all. What she felt now was entirely new to her.

“Canta spoke to me,” Jane continued. “She
came
to me, in a column of fire and light. And She told me that Her religion—the Cantic Denomination—had gone astray. She told me that many in the clergy were evil, and leading Her children away from Her. She said that it was time for Her true religion to rise again, from the ashes of heresy. Like the phoenix of old.”

Cinzia was numb. She wanted to laugh hysterically, but she could not tear her gaze away from Jane, whose eyes were welling up. Before realizing what she was doing Cinzia reached out to grasp Jane’s hand, holding it tightly in her own.

“She said that She had chosen me,” Jane said. “That I was to be Her prophetess, Her voice to the people. That I was to help lead Her followers through the rising.”

Cinzia watched her sister closely. Jane did not seem like a madwoman who had visions and heard voices. Beatific visions were a thing long past. No one in the Ministry had them anymore, not even the Essera herself, the head of the Denomination and Canta’s voice on the Sfaera. If no one in the Ministry had them, there was certainly no one else that could.

And yet here Jane was, as serious as Cinzia had ever seen her. It was all too much. Cinzia felt lost at sea, grasping at waves that rose high above her.

“I am sorry, Jane.” Cinzia stood. “I… I am sorry.” Without a backward glance she walked out of the room, out of the house, and into the night of Navone.

* * *

Cinzia found herself, of all places, before the massive bronze doors of Ocrestia’s cathedral.

She looked up at the edifice, a silver circle emblazoned on the left door, a golden triangle on the right. The doors were closed, of course, so Cinzia walked around to a side entryway. The minute she entered, her troubles seemed to fade. Her worry and confusion did not disappear, but it all felt less imposing, easier to bear.

Cinzia looked around, taking in the sights of the cathedral with a distant familiarity. It had been seven years since she last set foot inside, but she had come here every week as a youth. Out of instinct more than intent, Cinzia put her fingers to her lips, and then touched the worn foot of a large statue of the Disciple Ocrestia near the entryway. Ocrestia stood tall, her hair long and flowing, wearing a robe over one shoulder. The toes of the statue had long been worn smooth from over a thousand years of reverent contact. Each of the major cathedrals in the Sfaera was named after one of the Nine Disciples; Navone had named their cathedral after Ocrestia, the Third Disciple of the First Three. Other statues and murals along the cavernous hall portrayed scenes demonstrating Ocrestia’s attributes: kindness, wisdom, and temperance. Great columns stood tall on either side, and row after row of polished pews lined the center of the cathedral. When all the pews were out, the building could hold nearly twenty thousand people—more than a third of Navone’s population. Cinzia had seen the cathedral filled to capacity twice in her memory. But, at the moment, only a tiny fraction of the pews were occupied, despite the evening service having already begun.

Cinzia walked forward quietly, her footsteps echoing on the vast marble floor until she joined the rest of the congregation. A few turned to look at her, but most paid her no mind. Navone housed around a dozen priestesses, and it was not uncommon for one to attend the worship of another, especially a service in the cathedral itself.

The priestess—or perhaps it was a matron, Cinzia couldn’t be sure from where she sat—had already begun reciting Cantic history. As the priestess spoke, a choir behind her hummed and sang softly. Cinzia listened as their words resonated in the great hall. She loved this. The peace she felt at hearing the songs, the history recitation. Cinzia’s curiosity had been what first drew her to Cantic liturgy. Learning the history of the Denomination, and of Khale itself by proxy, fascinated her. But the more she attended services, the more she found a different meaning in them. Now, they were bastions of peace in a tumultuous world.

The choir’s tone became more somber, and the priestess’s recitation grew louder. She was reaching the Zenith, the part of the recitation describing Canta’s ministry, calling disciples, and then her death.

Cinzia looked up, letting the words and music wash over her, but she did not experience the familiar sense of peace. Instead, gnarled feelings of confusion and frustration reached out from the corner of her mind.

The singing had stopped. Now a group of disciples would walk through the congregation with water and oil, administering to the people. With an effort, Cinzia focused on the ordinance, on connecting with the Goddess she had known her entire life. What would come would come.

* * *

After the liturgy, Cinzia remained in the cathedral as the rest of the congregation departed. Cinzia could not bring herself to stand, to leave and face Jane.

Part of her wanted to curse Canta, to shout and scream and demand to know why the Goddess she had worshipped her entire life would put her in a situation such as this. But she could not be so harsh. Cinzia had grown up with the Goddess; she had grown up with the Cantic Denomination. The dimly lit carved wood, the smell of the lightly scented candles, even the hard pew beneath her made her feel at home.