2.9 The Altar

We came across a garden full of dead carnations and stopped dead in our tracks.

There were hundreds of them planted beside the worn cobblestone road leading to the entrance of the chapel. The flowers filled the lawn all the way to the edges of the iron fence encircling the chapel courtyard like ripe wheat ready for harvest. To see the once flourishing chapel garden in such a sorry state bothered me because the garden was well and alive just a couple of hours ago. Something, or someone, had caused the flowers to wilt.

"It's here," I said, staring at the chapel in horror.

"Well, it's not like we have anywhere else to go," Priscilla replied. "It attacks us in the chapel, we fight."

We rushed past the dead flowers, our weapons raised in front of us. Night had fallen an hour earlier than it should have, giving the bright chapel a dark and unwelcoming presence. The only thing that still shone in the dark was the stained glass of the lion and the lamb high above us. The window still shone as if a sun existed within the very walls of the building, something I had always wondered about but had never had a chance to confirm for myself.

I guess we're about to find out, I breathed.

Halfway down the cobblestone path leading to the main entrance, I spotted a handful of glowing, six-winged butterflies floating about the dead garden. I couldn't help but notice that these luminescent creatures were trying to collect nectar from the dead flowers.

“Are those-?”

“-Seraph butterflies!” Priscilla cried as soon as she spotted them. “Oh my gosh, I thought they were extinct!”

“They are.”

She glanced at the chapel door before turning her fixation back on the ethereal butterflies.

“Keep an eye out for the monster,” she said. “This, I have to see!”

Priscilla stepped into the garden toward the angelic creatures, crushing the dead flowers underfoot as she tore through them like a lawnmower. I followed behind on her trail, not wanting to destroy any more flowers than she already had.

When we reached the butterflies, I saw that their wings were dyed a shade of crimson so dark it looked like someone had painted them so. Their bodies, on the other hand, were iridescent and shone like diamonds even in the low-light of the garden. They were particularly cumbersome creatures, struggling even to maintain flight. It was like watching someone constantly trip while trying to walk yet somehow being able to maintain their balance. I had heard that these creatures could not survive in the wild and had to be closely monitored by one skilled in raising them at all times.

Priscilla held out a finger toward the kaleidoscope. To my surprise, one of the butterflies left its flower and ambled its way toward us. It landed on Priscilla’s outstretched finger for a brief moment. Each of its six wings drooped unnaturally as they came to a standstill. Then, as if keeping its wings still hurt it, the butterfly took off into the air to fumble through the dark sky once again.

She stared quietly at the creature as it flew away.

“If only,” she whispered.

These crimson butterflies were once valued for their ability to help a Seraph fully awaken her powers. Their disappearance all but sealed the fate of the two Seraph clans when the Destroyer sought them and hunted them down almost to their last member.

Priscilla awakened her powers years after the butterflies went extinct through a new method pioneered by her stepmother, Marchioness Hilda. But, because the process lacked the crucial ingredient only found in live Seraph butterflies, Priscilla’s awakening was incomplete, something that has haunted her to this day.

“Hey," I said, walking toward her. "Once we escape this nightmare and avenge Eleanor, I’ll help you find the Destroyer. We'll destroy him together,” I said.

“The Destroyer is a six-winger,” she scoffed. “Even I’m going to need a few more wings before we can even dream of doing that.”

“Then we’ll get you those wings,” I promised.

Priscilla smirked.

“That’s what I want to hear from my servant,” she said.

We made our way back through the garden to the chapel doors.

I took a deep breath and gave the twin wooden doors a good tug, but to no avail.

Barred shut.

I raised Kairos to cut the lock, but Priscilla raised a hand. She motioned for me to get out of the way.

I had just enough time to raise a barrier as she punched the gap in between the two wooden doors.

“Woah!”

The doors splintered open as if they were hit by a great battering ram. Shards of wood bounced harmlessly off of my barrier. On the other side of the doors, the sound of a great plank of wood hitting the ground echoed throughout the chapel.

“After you,” she said, shoving the door open with her back.

I stepped through the door, raising Kairos into the air, keeping my eyes peeled for the slightest sign of danger. Priscilla entered after me, lifting her shining wing high into the air.

To our surprise, the chapel interior was already brightly lit.

The stone walls were made of etherealite, a blue, magic-laced stone that shone in the dark. Everything from the ground to the walls to the passive pillars upholding the tall ceiling was made of this shimmering material, giving the chapel an other-worldly feel. I could feel the heat emanating from within the ever-glowing material.

“So that’s why the stained glass always lit up at night,” I said.

As we walked down the lush red carpet past the wooden pews, I saw an altar sitting at the end of the chapel. It was about two feet tall, rectangular in shape, covered completely with hammered gold. On each of its corners was a sharp bull horn, as Iris promised.

“There it is!” I called out, running toward the altar.

“Hold up!” Priscilla said, grabbing my shoulder. “We made it to the chapel and there's no sign of the Night Terror. We’ll be fine.”

“Iris specifically said we have to hold on to the horns to be safe. For all we know, the Night Terror is hiding right in front of us.”

“Like we can trust her of all people,” she said.

"I don't detect its presence," Gordon said from within the pocket dimension.

"Told yah. Let’s just wait here until she calls us. We can always make a run for it if we really need to.”

I took a step toward the altar, much to Priscilla’s annoyance.

“Come back here, you scaredy-cat!” she shouted.

“My Queen?” Gordon said.

“She’s talking to me,” I sighed.

“It wouldn't hurt to stand near the altar, just in case,” he said.

“I know," I said as I watched Priscilla make her way to one of the many pews spread throughout the chapel. "But I’m not going to win an argument with her on that.”

Gordon sounded like he was going to say more, but he remained silent instead.

Priscilla took a seat at one of the pews near the entrance, crossed her arms, and glared at me. Not wanting to displease her, I reluctantly walked back toward the pew she sat on and leaned against one of the nearby stone pillars.

I felt sick in my stomach. Iris didn’t seem like someone who left anything to chance in a crisis.

Only a few minutes left, I told myself, looking out the chapel doors for any signs of danger.

As I tried my best not to let Priscilla know I was afraid, I took a better look at the altar. It was covered in gold, and blood stained the wood platform underneath it. Sacrifices were made here once upon a time. Lives had been taken for the sake of pleasing some unknown deity. For what reason, I did not know, but it bothered me that such an object existed within the Dawn Sanctuary. Perhaps that was the very reason guildmaster went out of his way to erect a powerful barrier around the entire chapel to prevent anyone from finding out. That barrier was the reason we decided to climb the chapel when we did instead of trying to sneak into it.

“Why do you think there's an altar in the chapel?" I asked.

"All I care is that it's a creepy altar and I'm not going to touch."

"Yeah. And I wouldn’t put it beyond Marlette to trick us into doing something we'll regret."

"Right? Look at the painting above it instead. Way more interesting than that icky altar."

The painting in question depicted a man being burnt at stake before a very large crowd, people from every walk of life. But what caught my attention was what was above and below the crowd. Above the condemned man were the powers of heaven, as majestic as they were mysterious. Many of them were dressed in white and were flanked by massive feathered wings, not unlike a Seraph's. Their expressions seemed to be that of rejoicing despite the tears in their eyes. Whether they were celebrating the man's death or grieving, I could not tell. Beneath and around the man were the denizens of hell, dark, insidious, and standing in plain sight instead of hiding as they usually were in this kind of art. They were laughing, clapping their hands, and spitting at the man, clearly enjoying their victory over him. A couple of them stood hidden among the human crowd. I didn't notice them at first because of how human they looked.

I felt a sharp pain in the palms of my hands. As I raised my hands to my eyes, I saw four deep indents in both of my palms. Embarrassed, I dug my hands into my pockets.

"What do you think he did?" Priscilla asked.

Priscilla had walked over from the pew she was sitting on to the pillar I leaned against.

"Nothing, from what I could tell," I replied. "Wouldn't surprise me, seeing how people are willing to burn sinners for the slightest offense."

“Is that how Eleanor died?”

The question caught me off-guard. Then I remembered that Priscilla had forgotten everything about Eleanor thanks to the nightmare. As I opened my mouth to speak, I didn't know if I had the strength to walk through the entire story again. But there was not a hint of malice in her voice. She only sought to understand. I took a breath before responding.

“Yeah. I was supposed to die that day, too.”

“But you survived.”

“Because of dumb luck. I chose the longer lot and was chosen to be burnt second."

Priscilla nodded.

Just like my mom gave her life to save you, I thought, realizing for the first time that my mom had risked a lot saving me from the armed guards that day.

“Well, I'm glad we're finally doing something about her death, Eleanor's death. Though tell me, why did we wait so long?”

“Guild rules and a civil war in Gideon. We were too valuable for the guild to risk losing on "some petty vendetta on Nivandor." Even this time we were technically breaking a bunch of contract agreements going to Nivandor. Come to think of it, they’ll probably excommunicate me anyway for failing to stop your assassin even if we get out of this mess alive.”

“Oh, don't worry. I'll vouch for you. It’s not like they’re going to say no to me.”

“You’re probably right.”

I looked back at the painting and realized that the painting was actually stained glass. The individual pieces were so fine that from a distance they appeared to be one cohesive whole. To create such a piece in the real world would have been impractical, if not impossible. But whoever had made the art piece had gone out of their way to painstakingly piece together the colorful mosaic, one shard at a time. My only reservation about the piece was the fires of the flame burning the man. The fires in the glass only glowed a dull orange and did not do justice to how such an inferno would look in person. Nor could a stained glass begin to describe the horror that was burnt flesh. And yet, this imperfect image had managed to remind me of that terrible day, of the grief that resided in the dregs of my soul.

“You always told me that I'll eventually have to stop asking the "if" question if I wanted to get better," I said. "But I’ll probably always wonder if I could have done things differently then."

Priscilla looked up at her iridescent wing before looking back down at me.

“You and me both,” she said.

We slowly made our way over to the steps leading up to the altar. I looked at the blood-stained horns of the altar. At that very moment, a cold, sinking filled the pit of my stomach and did not go away. My sense told me to run to the altar.

“Hey," I yelped. "It’s been a hot minute. Iris said she’d have us out by now. I think we should grab the horns, just in case.”

Priscilla made a face before rolling her eyes.

“If it makes you feel better,” she said after a moment.

We climbed up the steps until we were standing directly in front of the bloody object. We reached and grabbed one of the altar’s horns each. The gold was cold and unfeeling, just as I expected it to be. But there was a warmth that seemed to radiate from within the altar itself. An unusual sense of peace filled my heart.

Odd, I thought.

“One of us should get the door,” Priscilla said.

“I’ll get it.”

But the moment I looked up to make my way to the entrance of the chapel, I found myself staring straight into the glowing orange eyes of the Night Terror.

"How-?"

I raised Kairos, still holding onto the altar with my left hand.

Yet the monster stood as still as a statue at the foot of the stairs.

I prepared a kinetic strike to annihilate the monster, but before I had even completed its preparation, the Night Terror began to laugh a hoarse, hollow laugh. The voice sounded unnervingly human now.

The Night Terror clapped its gloved hands as it painfully climbed up the stairs.

Moment of truth, I thought.

When it reached the third step, it raised its broken leg to climb the fourth before pulling its leg back as if in pain.

The Night Terror growled, but the growl melted into a soft chuckle.

The creature took a step back, reached up to the dirty linen mask covering its face, and carefully peeled off its layers one at a time. When the wrappings completely fell away, they revealed the face of a cold-eyed woman whose face I had definitely seen somewhere before, perhaps in a photograph.

“Oh no,” I groaned when I recognized who was standing before us.

“Esther,” Priscilla gasped. "No, you're dead!"

The Night Terror stretched out her right hand. A red javelin appeared in a flash of light. Only this time, six more javelins appeared behind her, encircling her like a floating throne. Each of their spearheads burned with an intense blue fire powerful enough to kill an adult dragon, but the javelin in her hand burned the brightest of all. She pointed the javelin at Priscilla, completely ignoring me.

“Far from it, Your Highness,” the Night Terror replied in a pleasant voice. “It'll take more than a knife in the back to kill a monster like me.”