Chapter 10 – The Faithful

As the three of them descended into the bowels of the earth, they were swallowed up by the dark, their echoing footsteps the only indication of space.

“Gneist,” Cat said. A bright orange flame flickered to life above the palm of her raised hand, casting light across their surroundings in the plain stone tunnel.

The path forked up ahead, splitting into two tunnels. Linton confidently picked the one on the right. They kept walking, and Aeva soon found it hard to keep track of time, with no way to tell its passage apart except by the rhythm of their own footsteps.

The tunnel split many more times, and each time Linton was quick in choosing their next path.

Aeva let her hand run along the wall and found grooves grouped before each split. Letters, she realized, arranged into neat little rows. No language that she recognized.

“Keep up,” Linton called from the front. “If you lose track of me, you’re fucked. You don’t want to know what happens if you pick the wrong path.”

“What happens?” Aeva asked, quickening her strides to catch up with the blue-haired revolutionary.

“I said you don’t want to know.”

“I would rather be aware of any danger we face.”

Linton sighed. “Suit yourself. This maze is of Imwe’s design. It was built to test her devotees, but has since been transformed into a method to weed out anyone unworthy of reaching the Undercity. Take a wrong turn, and you’re at the mercy of the Goddess of Knowledge.” He added, under his breath: “What’s left of her, anyway.”

After a few more splits, they reached a larger, rectangular chamber with a high ceiling. Cat bolstered her hovering flame to light up the room properly, and Aeva caught sight of a giant stone gate set into the far wall, surrounded by fading murals telling of ancient splendors.

“Finally,” Cat said. “Thought we’d never get here. Imwe needs to think about a skip function for repeat customers.”

Linton approached the gate and placed a hand on the smooth surface. Next to its height, he resembled a mere toddler. He spoke a few words, and a deep rumble resonated through the whole chamber, making pebbles tremble on the floor.

The gates swung slowly inward, spilling blinding light through the crack that left smears on Aeva’s retina. She put a hand over her eyes to shield them from the worst of it.

When the light faded and she was once again able to see, a city hewn from rock had revealed itself beyond the gate.

A massive, sprawling cave opened up before them, thousands of buildings set into the steep walls and connected with switchback stairs, creating a bowl-shaped skyline. Crystal formations hung from the domed ceiling, glowing brightly, illuminating the whole city in pale starlight.

On the ground were blocks of ordered buildings made from quarried stone.

Several larger-than-life statues stood guard before the city, some still in construction with scaffolding around them. There were six in total, and in their midst towered the likeness of a female with a fertile, curvy figure and flowing hair. Ravens sat perched on her shoulders, ruby eyes glittering.

Imwe, Aeva assumed, the head of her titular pantheon.

“Come on, everybody!” Linton said, looking back.

Aeva followed as he entered through the open gates. Cat put out her flame with a wave of her hand. As soon as they were all through, the doors swung shut on invisible hinges. On each side of the gate they had come through were several others, ten in all.

How could an entire city exist in secret below another? Aeva wondered. This truly is the magic of a god.

They walked across a flat piece of ground towards the statues. A group of seven humans approached them, fanning out into a crescent-moon formation. They wore voluminous black robes, heads shaven.

All of them stopped apart from one, a male whose head was tattooed with crisscrossing shapes.

“State your business, strangers,” the man said, holding up a hand. “The Undercity does not—”

“I don’t talk to middlemen,” Linton said, walking past the male without a glance. “I want to see Castlieri.”

The humans settled into low, aggressive stances. Their leader shouted a word of power that willed a circle of glowing swords into being around him and Linton.

“You go nowhere without my permission,” the leader said. “Identify yourself or be struck down.”

Linton pulled down his dark hood, letting his bright blue hair spill out. Cat did the same with hers, revealing her red mop.

“It’s the Blue Mage,” several of the humans whispered. A few of them shuffled uncomfortably, if anything more on guard than before.

The leader glanced around at the three of them and reluctantly released his spell, allowing the swords to dissipate.

“Linton Granhorn,” he said, incredulous. “What brings you here?”

Linton crossed his arms, staring dully at the leader. “To see Castlieri, clearly. Bring me to him.”

The leader hesitated. Eventually, he sighed and shook his head. “Fine. But don’t try anything. These men are all trained in the arcane arts. Keep your hands where I can see them at all times.”

Cat stuck her hands in the pockets of her hoodie with a grin.

The leader glared at her until Aeva thought his eyes might pop out of their sockets. Instead, he muttered curses under his breath and started walking, the other priests forming a circle around the three of them.

“Very impressive,” Aeva said with more than a hint of irony.

“Aren’t I just?” Cat chirped.

They were led through the clean, near-empty streets of the Undercity. There were few people in sight, and most of them moved respectfully to the side as soon as they saw the priests. Still, Aeva felt an insistent tickle go up her back, a feeling as if she was being watched.

She found herself glancing up at the dark, empty windows of the houses around her, expecting to find someone staring back. Instead, she spied only fleeting shadows.

“These priests wear all black,” Aeva murmured to Linton. “As do the truthers. Why would they wish to resemble them in this way?”

“Just a coincidence,” Linton said. “They are in mourning. After their faith was outlawed, the Ministries of Glory and Welfare waged a joint campaign known as the God Hunt. They hired the most skilled assassins across the globe in order to slay the gods their people had once worshipped.”

“And they succeeded,” Aeva hissed.

Linton shrugged. “So it would seem.”

She had heard of gods dying. Her own people’s histories contained stories of Gjurin slaying the deities of foreign peoples and bringing their riches back to the wildkin. For humans to slay a god, however? That she had never heard of.

The thought made her shiver.

They were led to a building made of brighter, cleaner stone near the center of the city. A myriad of pillars held up a grand, domed roof, adorned with statues of humans, beasts, and divine messengers.

The group walked past pillars wide as two men and through a set of rounded gates, where more priests eyed them suspiciously.

They were led through a vast, open hall with immaculate stone floors. It held twenty or more circular mats where priests sparred in fluid, graceful combat, punches and kicks smattering like rain.

Along both walls, fighters sparred against dummies clad in hats and black coats. Some of the fighters unleashed fire and ice and other dazzling magical displays.

Linton eyed the fighters voraciously.

“They’ll all fight for me,” he said, glancing at Aeva. “Just you wait.”

They went up a set of wide, shallow stairs at the end of the hall, leading to another, smaller chamber which held many altars with lesser versions of the six statues they had seen previously arrayed in a semi-circle in the back. Bundles of trifling gifts, including coinage, food, or personal items, were placed before the feet of the gods. Worshippers knelt at the altars, whispering hushed prayers.

As Aeva looked around the room, she was surprised to see statues of other deities. The Sun Lord of the Commonwealth; Mahaan, an ancient demonic enemy of her people; the Deep Gods, tentacled monstrosities from the darkest oceans. Even more that she couldn’t name. To her right, at the very end of the line of statues, sat a large wildkin with a crescent moon amid his branching horns, a sword resting across his knees.

Her heart jumped.

Gjurin.

His statue was smaller than the others, its surface tarnished with wear. No offerings lay at his feet.

She started walking in that direction, but two of the priests pushed her back into the circle with harsh stares. Reluctantly, she let herself be led, looking longingly back at the statue.

A human male in white robes knelt before one of the statues of the Imwean gods. The lead priest approached him and whispered something in his ear. The white-clad male stood, waved the priest aside, and turned to face them.

He was tall and fair-skinned, bald like the other priests and with a close-cropped, golden beard. He wore an easy smile, but there was a hard intensity behind his eyes.

The gaggle of priests retreated back out of the chamber along with any worshippers. Only the white-robed man remained, as well as a decrepit, aged female who stood with the help of a shaky cane, her face a mess of deep wrinkles. Her hair consisted only of a few white, wispy strands slicked against her skull.

“Linton Granhorn,” the priest said, approaching their group with slow, measured steps. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Alive, at least.”

“I told you I’d be back,” Linton said, grinning like a fox. “My rebellion is underway.”

The priest nodded, folding his hands before him. “I am aware.”

Linton looked over at Aeva and gestured towards the priest. “Aeva, this is Alum Castlieri, Archpriest of the Church of Rags. Castlieri, this is Aeva ag Krethnich of Anderland. The newest addition to my group.”

Castlieri inclined his head in greeting, less than a bow but more than a nod. “A pleasure. I assume you are a devotee of Gjurin, then? We have a statue in his honor just—”

“I know,” Aeva interrupted. “I would like to worship there before we leave, if that is agreeable.”

“Certainly. The Undercity is dedicated to all who worship, not only those of the Imwean faith.”

Linton cleared his throat. “Now, to business. You’ve seen what I can do. I’m sure you’ve read the papers. Are you ready to cement our alliance?”

“Yes, a commendable effort,” Castlieri said. The old female at his side tugged at his robe and whispered in his ear. He straightened, eyes narrowing slightly. “Any damage done to the MOW is to be praised. However, there is no alliance between us. You should be grateful that I even allowed this audience, given the target you have painted on your back.”

Linton sucked on his teeth. “I see. I suppose you wouldn’t like to know about the greatest weapon the Concord has ever seen, then?”

Castlieri went silent. The old female whispered something.

He made a small gesture with his hand. “Very well. Go on.”

Linton glanced back at Aeva. “You tell them.”

Aeva took a deep breath.

The archpriest regarded her expectantly.

“The Crown of the Moon-King,” she said. “A powerful artifact of Gjurin’s own creation. It was intended as a gift for me, in order to liberate my people. It was stolen by the MOW. When I recover it, I will use it to destroy them.”

“As wonderful as that sounds,” Castlieri said, “I have trouble believing such rumors when they come from the mouths of those that have the most to gain by telling them. For now, I—” The old female whispered in his ear and he cut himself off. He cleared his throat. “On second thought, we may yet come to an arrangement. How are you planning to retrieve this Crown?”

That was easy, Aeva thought.

“Couldess has likely moved the Crown out of the Arcanex to avoid further attempts at stealing it,” Linton said. “He knows the power of this artifact as well.”

“The Vault of Kings,” the old female suddenly spoke in a voice like old papers rustling. She thumped her staff on the floor, producing a sharp echo. “It is held there.”

Linton’s eyebrows shot up as he looked over the aged thing. “And who is this, Castlieri? You take orders from grannies now?”

“She is my advisor,” Castlieri said firmly. “Her counsel is as golden as Imwe’s own wisdom.”

Linton shrugged. “I was already thinking of the Vault of Kings, myself. Your granny there may just be right.”

Cat clapped her hands together. “Right. So, we’re done here? We’ve all agreed to take down the MOW together.”

Castlieri held up a finger. “Not yet. There is ceremony to uphold. You must prove yourself worthy of becoming our allies.” He grinned, but there was no joy behind it.

“A duel, I’m guessing,” Linton said.

“It’s as if you read my mind. After all, if my own champion can beat one of yours, what use are you to me?”

Linton turned on his heel to face Cat and Aeva. He looked both of them up and down.

“My sister Catia will fight in my stead,” he said, motioning to Cat. “Pick your champion, Castlieri.”

Heat went to Aeva’s face. Not that she’d wanted to be picked, but it stung to be overlooked so casually. She had already shown Linton her strength, after all.

Castlieri headed towards the main chamber and the others were forced to follow. The old advisor shambled behind the archpriest, dragging her feet on the ground. Whenever her lazy eyes passed over Aeva, she shivered as if touched by the chill of winter.

In the main chamber, Castlieri called an end to all training. All the fighters gathered around a single circle, pushing close to Aeva and the others, and he picked one to fight in his stead.

A human male, standing head and shoulders above his counterparts, intricate tattoos running across his face and scalp. His muscled form bulged against his robes, with a neck like a bull’s.

“This is Brother Pendros,” Castlieri said, motioning to his chosen fighter. “He is a vivimancer with mastery of twelve runes.”

Linton nodded to himself. “Impressive. How many do you know, Cat?” He looked back at his sister.

“Seven,” Cat said.

“Oh my. Sounds like we’re in trouble.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Cat stood inside the circle opposite Pendros. All others were relegated outside to watch, Aeva standing next to Linton just before the edge of the circle, with Castlieri and the advisor on the other side of him.

The circle was about ten meters across, larger than all the others in the hall, and was designated by smooth, black stone instead of the mats used for the other practice circles.

Cat unzipped her hoodie and shrugged it off, revealing a white tank-top underneath. She bounced in place, throwing a few air punches.

Pendros remained where he was, staring at his opponent.

“If your champion wins the duel, I will agree to an alliance between the Church of Rags and the Bluebirds,” Castlieri said. “If she loses, you will leave the Undercity and never return, either in person or through a representative. Are those fair terms?”

“I accept,” Linton said.

“No firearms, no enchantments, and no lethal attacks,” Castlieri continued. “The match is over when either combatant is thrown out of the ring, yields, or is unable to continue.”

Linton raised his voice. “You hear that, sis? Don’t kill the guy!”

“Then we may begin,” Castlieri said.

Linton held up a finger. “Hold on a minute. You don’t mind if I put up a ward, do you?”

The archpriest shook his head. “Do as you wish.”

Linton threw up his hands. “Ila Skolda!”

A wall of solid energy formed in front of him, growing until it had formed a bubble around the whole circle.

He dusted off his hands, blue sparkles coming off them. “There we go. All good.”

Aeva stewed quietly.

“Are you sure that your sister will be able to win?” she asked, regarding the fiery-haired human skeptically. “She is quite… tiny.”

“Just watch,” Linton said. “Enjoy the show.”

“Are both champions ready?” Castlieri asked.

“Sure thing,” Cat said, bobbing her head in rhythm with the bouncing of her feet.

“Yes, Your Holiness,” Pendros said, head bowed.

“Then fight!” Castlieri barked.

Cat reached down to the floor to stretch, then got back up.

Pendros settled into a low stance.

“Bryka! Groa!” he shouted.

His body grew and bulged out, his bones audibly cracking as they adjusted themselves. In seconds, his robes were ripped to tatters as his already impressive musculature swelled, straining against his taut skin with thick veins squirming along his arms and legs.

He rushed towards Cat, footfalls like mallets on stone, and bridged the final few meters with a giant leap, putting his hands together like a sledgehammer.

Cat stopped bouncing and held out her right hand to the side, the left forming a brief hand sign.

“Knuph,” she said.

She skidded to the left, her low sneakers sliding on the stone with a sharp squeak. Pendros slammed into the ground where she had just been standing, cracking stone and throwing up rubble.

With another push, Cat slid around to the back of the priest.

Pendros spun as he stood, raising his slabs for hands in a tight guard. The ground beneath him lit up in a compact explosion. Stone chips dinged against the glassy shield ringing the circle, and the priest was veiled in a cloud of dust.

He fell forward out of the dust, and Cat was already there to intercept him. She held up her right hand, and another bright explosion caught Pendros in the chest.

The shockwave sent him toppling backward and Cat sliding the other way.

“Cat may not look like much,” Linton said, “but adding her to my group wasn’t nepotism. She’s got years of training under her belt as a geomancer, and she’s excellent at thinking on her feet. She has learned to use the Baku rune through hand signs, in addition to verbalization—an impressive feat for any mage.”

Pendros wobbled to his feet, bleeding from a dozen places on his torso and arms, rubble embedded in his flesh.

Cat grinned. “Drida,” she said.

The shattered stone shards littering the floor sprung to life, beginning to hover. Hundreds of pieces, some small as fingernails and others large as fists.

“You ready for this, big man?” she asked.

The priest growled and sprinted forward.

With a flick of her wrist, all the rocks flew at Pendros, blurring with the speed. He got on his back and slid over the floor. The projectiles went over his head, hitting the shield and cracking the surface.

Pendros got back on his feet, immediately launching into a quick uppercut.

“Skolda!” Cat cried, bringing her arms up in a cross.

She was barely able to raise a magic shield over her arms before the priest’s fist connected. The shield shattered and she was sent flying. She tumbled, airborne, and landed near the edge of the circle.

The priest rushed her, and with another word of power she skidded on her belly between his legs. A controlled detonation beneath her, and she flew back on her feet behind the big male’s back, a steady stream of blood running from her nose.

“Tut, tut,” she said as the priest wheeled around. “No qualms punching a girl, huh? Some man you are. How about we even things up a bit?”

She held out her hands.

“Drida! Hryna!” she yelled.

Rubble rose up off the floor and gathered around her hands. As more and more piled on, they formed massive gauntlets, each one almost the size of her upper torso, though they didn’t seem to restrict her movements.

Pendros charged her once more, raising his arms as he prepared to trap her in a bear hug.

The air around Cat’s gauntlets trembled as the stone grew red-hot.

Cat slipped around the side of the big priest, avoiding his attack, and slammed her right gauntlet into his side. He howled with pain, stumbling sideways as his robes began to smoke.

By the time he had righted himself, Cat was already coming in for another blow.

Pendros threw up a big hand, open-palmed.

“Gneist!”

A cone of bright sparks flew out of his hand, showering Cat. She stopped in her tracks and covered her face. The priest swiveled, using his left to counterattack.

Cat blocked the punch with her right hand, but the gauntlet cracked and fell apart. Pendros reeled back, his hand singed from the superheated rocks.

“Nice one, big man,” Cat said. “But I’m getting tired of this. Drida!”

Rocks drew in and gathered around Pendros’s feet, completely surrounding them and locking them in place. While he tried to drag his feet loose, Cat ran towards him.

He swiped with his right in a wide backhand, but Cat launched herself off the ground with a word, avoiding the attack by a wide margin as she flipped around the back of the priest. She struck him in the back with her remaining gauntlet and he toppled forward, breaking the restraints in the process.

He tried to get up, but Cat let her gauntlet fall away and placed a little finger against the back of his head.

“Wouldn’t recommend it, big man,” Cat said. “Unless you want your head to go ’splodey.”

“Yield,” Pendros worked out, remaining perfectly still.

Linton let his cracked shield fade with a wave of his hand. “Looks like we have a deal, Castlieri.”

“The Bluebird is the winner!” the archpriest announced, sounding disappointed.

Cat stepped off the big male and let a few of his brethren carry him away for treatment. She picked up her hoodie and slung it over her shoulder, a big grin on her face. She wiped blood off her upper lip, walking over to Linton and Aeva.

“I think I needed that,” she panted. Despite being keenly out of breath, she had a spring in her step.

Aeva was speechless. Linton’s trickster magic was one thing, but Cat’s raw power… She had never seen anything like it.

Are all the Bluebirds this strong? she wondered. With power like that, how can I hope to compare?

***

While Linton and the archpriest hashed out the details of their deal, Aeva found some time to worship at the statue of Gjurin. Cat had swiftly gotten bored and had run off into the Undercity to procure herself more food.

Aeva had managed to get ahold of a bucket of water and a rag and busied herself cleaning every surface of the neglected stone statue. She let her hands trace every curve and contour she could reach until her fingertips were wrinkled and her arms ached.

“Speak to me, Lord,” she whispered urgently in Gjosi. “Please. I do not know what you wish of me.”

The stone remained silent.

She had no offerings for her god, so she simply bowed her head and kept on cleaning.

Standing on a stool, she was able to reach the face—marred with neglect, yet still carrying the weight of severe judgment behind his eyes. She wiped the head of the statue with her rag, rolling her shoulders at the unnerving feeling that the thing was watching her.

“Gjurin, if you know that I exist, tell me why,” she said. “Was I ever Chosen? Or was it a delusion?”

Gjurin stared firmly past her.

“Answer me, Gjurin!” she cried, the echo of her voice filling the chamber.

A deep rumble went through the statue. With a great heave, it rose from its foundations, throwing her backward off the stool. She landed heavily on her back, the air slipping from her lungs with a hard wheeze.

“You, who think yourself my Chosen,” the statue rumbled. “By what right do you summon me here? By what right does the gnat accost the wolf?”

Dazzling color stained the stone, life suffusing the dead likeness as it stood at its full height. It thrust the sword into the floor before it, holding the pommel with both hands.

Aeva flipped around on her hands and knees, struggling to breathe.

“I… have no right,” she said. She kept her head down, only daring to look upon his feet. “I just wanted to know. Did you Choose me?”

“Like a newly quenched blade, I saw strength in you,” Gjurin spoke. “And yet, upon your first trial, you shattered. What once appeared as fine steel was naught but tainted slag.”

“Why?” Aeva cried. “I am sorry, Lord! I did all I could! I…” She let herself slump. “I tried to save them.”

“That is not your failure, but your just punishment. To hold those you love is a privilege of the strong, and you have allowed your weakness to make you brittle. Half a human. Half a wildkin. Never whole.”

Aeva let slip bitter tears, stained with shame.

She slammed her fists on the hard floor. “I cannot help how I was born! If you want to curse anyone, curse my mother! She is the one who sired me with a filthy human!”

“No,” Gjurin spoke. “You cannot help being born of human blood. Just as you cannot help being born with two arms. And yet, rejecting one arm will not supplement the other.

“Half a being cannot wage war. Half a being cannot rule. Half a being cannot be King.

“Learn this lesson. Then return.”

The god went silent.

When Aeva dared to look up after several minutes, the statue had returned to its place, seated upon its throne. No matter how long she searched its features, she couldn’t find any sign that it had ever stirred.

“Uh, are you quite alright?”

Aeva looked to her right. A youth in black robes stood there, holding a mop.

He pointed to her bucket. “If you don’t mind, could I have that back?”

Aeva wiped away tears and handed him the bucket. He walked off, and she let herself deflate.

Another epiphany? Or another delusion? Judging by my luck, it must be—

She laid eyes on a vertical slice in the stone just in front of her, clean and deep. She let her fingers trace the groove as a smile spread across her lips.

Gjurin’s words stung.

But they were real.

Which meant that she could do his bidding.