Chapter 24 – Rogue Cleric

  Demi

  Demi wrestled with the coarse pain in her thighs. It slowed her movements and distracted her. She hadn’t been this injured since a fall from a horse broke her leg at a young age.

  However.

  Just as it had then, the sensation filled her with a presence she never felt in her coddled days. It was an elevated awareness of her surroundings, a certain immediate connection with the world around. The horse wanted to let her know she was riding poorly, and rather than relay it through a lengthy letter weeks later, it simply did so.

  Rather enticing, truly.

  Now, what was this room, and where would it lead? Demi examined the area: a rectangular chamber with a high ceiling and a balcony spanning the perimeter. A spiral staircase in the corner led up to the elevated area. One end of the room bore a large archway leading elsewhere, its stone doors both fallen and shattered. A smaller alcove entrance lay on the adjacent wall, further down. Toward the end, a raised area.

  “This might have been council chambers,” Demi decided. “Which means we’re at the highest part of the city. If there’s an exit to the river, it will be from here.”

  Olivia, several steps ahead, kept her eyes on the darkened alcove entrance.

  “Through there?” Olivia wondered.

  “Let’s see,” Demi said. They approached the small entrance, which lead to a small chamber with an even higher ceiling – so high the darkness hid the top. It made room for the stone dragon statue carved out of the rock wall, with its broken wing and cracked horns. Rubble sat in the center, perhaps where a seat had been. The features of the statue’s face were colorless and implacable.

  “Just the chapel,” Demi stated. “That confirms these are council chambers, at least.”

  “Which one of the dragons did these people follow?” Olivia asked, examining the statue.

  “This one here is universal, see how the hands are empty?” Demi answered. “Path communion statues always hold their sacred objects.”

  “Oh, like the axe of Janus or Lanya’s plowshare?” Olivia said.

  “Yes,” Demi confirmed, “the nameless, colorless dragon is used often in ambassadorial proceedings. It even allows the eastern clerics of the Shiuki faith to commune, though I’ve not seen that myself.”

  “They don’t do Dranglethi in the east?” Olivia’s brows raised.

  Demi didn’t much feel like going into detail, but it wouldn’t do to leave her unanswered.

  “They only conceive of two divine dragons,” Demi said. “One of white scales and black eyes, the other of black scales and white eyes. Their path involves living with and harmonizing both.”

  Olivia looked confused.

  “Don’t we have a white and black one?” she said.

  “Atma’s scales are opaline and Charon’s are onyx,” Demi corrected her. “They are different. Atma’s Purity is a path of self-flagellation and needless hardship. And as for Charon’s End: when someone says they’re walking the onyx path-”

  Olivia interrupted quickly: “I know that means you want to open your own throat! Erm, alright, that makes sense now.”

  The countess frowned, having not intended to spend so much time discussing.

  “Let’s look elsewhere,” Demi began to turn.

  “Wait,” Olivia said, “would the purple drag-”

  “Morgana,” Demi stated.

  “Would Morgana tell us where to go?” Olivia finished her question.

  Demi glanced at the ancient statue.

  “Perhaps,” Demi said, thinking. “I suspect she is watching close. It might not be a bad idea.”

  Olivia moved to the side as Demi approached the space where the statue’s eyes met the floor.

  “Olivia,” Demi said, casting her gaze at the cat-folk. “I’ll need you to leave the room. And you’ll hear me talking to myself.”

  Olivia furrowed her brow and said: “I kind of wanted to see Morgana?”

  “No cleric of Terria has ever seen their dragon truly,” Demi sighed impatiently. “You would only see my reaction to her divine presence, not her. That is why the chapters are so important, so those who lack the training to commune are still able to live by their path.”

  Demi waited for the disappointed cat-folk to leave before returning her attention to the nameless dragon.

  She stood with eyes closed.

  Exhaled.

  A presence already lay upon her shoulder.

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  The purple-hued reflection of the chamber from above melded into view across her darkened lids. Demi saw herself posed with crossbow in arms and lowered head, while Morgana’s elven visage rested her steel-jeweled hand on Demi from behind.

  When Morgana spoke, the words were closer than Demi had ever heard.

  “Cast your die, have you?” Morgana’s voice carried regal intensity.

  “I stand by my decisions,” Demi responded. “If for no other reason than to punish the Florentines."

  Morgana took a long moment to consider her.

  “Do not let that fervor become mindless zeal,” Morgana ordered. “That wound will kill you. Heal it.”

  “I shall find a healer aft-” Demi began.

  “Heal it yourself,” Morgana interrupted.

  The countess paused before responding in any fashion. She’d never heard Morgana instruct her to perform her own draconic magic.

  “I require an explanation,” Demi finally spoke.

  The goddess pointed at the statue’s feet, out of sight from Demi’s perspective in the eyes.

  “Retrieve your instrument, cleric,” Morgana said. “While seeing me.”

  Moving while maintaining the visualization was a new trial.

  Ah – a trial.

  Morgana nodded in confirmation of her unspoken understanding.

  Demi did it slowly, made to watch herself take careful steps forward around the uneven ground. It was difficult to reckon with seeing her movements from above, as a dragon in flight would. She nearly stumbled across a fault in the stone but caught herself without losing her focus on the vision. At the base of the dragon, now, Demi lowered the crossbow and knelt, feeling to the unseen place.

  Her hand grasped something cool and metallic. Whether it had been there to begin with, Demi couldn’t say. She held it firm and raised it aloft, prompting a chime to ring aloud.

  Ting!

  This was a sistrum, an ancient ritual instrument made of bronze. The handle formed the elegant fa?ade of a feminine dragon’s face, which connected to two prongs that had thin copper wires hammered between them. On the wires were discs of tin that rattled with surprising resonance. Demi had seen ritual instruments used for sparing special occasions, but never one as old as this.

  Holding it made walking back to her goddess feel easier – somehow.

  Morgana fixed Demi with an appraising look, once more resting a hand on her shoulder.

  “You have much mana from our routine talks,” Morgana said. “Since it’s clear you intend to involve yourself directly in these affairs, you must become adept at using it. I will awaken in you the pathways to the proper words and movements. Pain is – unavoidable. Are you prepared?”

  Demi nodded solemnly.

  Morgana shifted her hand from Demi’s shoulder to the top of her head.

  A spike split Demi’s head like the morning after too much wine. A hundredfold worse.

  The visualization became erratic. The walls fluxed with geometric waves of royal purple. For a moment, places between places came to be, then went away elsewhere.

  The countess groaned involuntarily and perceived Morgana holding her from behind so she could remain standing.

  Several seconds of agony passed before it all eased back into place.

  When Demi regained control, new things waited in her unconscious mind.

  Magic – a humble collection of draconic spells that felt more remembered than learned.

  There were no words between them as Morgana held Demi’s hand and sistrum, moving in tandem. They made sweeping, graceful motions in waves through the air.

  “Mend wounds,” they spoke together to the rhythm of thin chimes.

  Violet puffs of smoke in the shape of butterfly’s wings billowed from Demi’s wrapped wound, flapping as they dithered to nothingness. A firm yet soothing sensation flowed across the wound, healing flesh back together and purifying away any lingering infection. Strength returned to her stance as the pain subsided, though she felt more fatigued.

  The goddess gave Demi a moment to appreciate the blessed warmth of draconic healing.

  “Your chosen path is arduous,” Morgana said with rare tenderness. “I shall smile upon your success, should you find it.”

  Demi had no response. She merely stood in reverence after hearing the most direct praise she’d ever received from the Dragon of Order.

  They were in stark silence for several moments, where Morgana simply stood gazing at her with that stern yet discerning expression. Demi at last thought to ask about the question at hand, whether this place was being used – but.

  Movement came from above. Three winged creatures like giant bats descended, cast in purple tones. Demi watched them diving right for her and Morgana!

  She opened her eyes to see them from her own perspective and only had time to glance their yellowed fangs and hungry eyes before they were on her.

  Demi felt a new reflex and rang out with her sistrum, chanting: “Bind creature!”

  Steel chains glowing with purple flames materialized around two of the monsters, binding their wings to their elongated bodies and constricting tight. They dropped to the ground, but there was a third! It shrieked at Demi, flying in an aggressive circle overhead.

  “Olivia!” Demi shouted, but the cat-folk had gone off somewhere. Damnit!

  The last bat swooped in her direction. Demi raised her crossbow and fired, launching a bolt through the creature’s wing and sending it spiraling near the ground.

  In a flash, Olivia leapt through the chapel’s entrance and stuck her sword through the bat’s chest midair, causing it to shriek and shrivel as blood flowed. It stopped moving and hit the ground when Olivia pulled her sword free, leaving the pair of them looking at the bound bats. They squirmed uselessly against the restraints; wings locked to their bodies.

  “Woah!” Olivia exclaimed. “Dragon magic?”

  “It won’t hold,” Demi said. “Finish them.”

  The cat-folk winced but then nodded.

  “I’ll watch too,” Demi offered.

  After Olivia executed the helpless bats, they left the chapel behind. Demi felt a creeping tiredness through her body from having expended so much mana in a short time. She knew it could be practiced to take less of a toll and resolved to do so.

  “Sorry I took so long coming back,” Olivia said. “I didn’t wanna eavesdrop so I went looking around – I found another secret passage up those stairs, behind some boxes like we saw at Finn’s!”

  Demi really couldn’t criticize that.

  “I suppose it worked out,” Demi said. “Good job, Olivia.”

  The cat-folk stiffened into a dramatic salute, looking quite proud.

  “By the way,” Olivia asked on their way up the stairs, “what’s it like being able to talk to a dragon?”

  It was many things. Demi could’ve spoken at length. Instead she simply said: “Mine? Difficult, but rewarding. She is firm in her nature, unyielding in principle. It is – comforting, that strength. Morgana’s Order is a path for a world more dangerous than this. Older generations of nobles had more to protect their lands from.”

  “Huh, like the war and stuff,” Olivia said. “I guess that makes you pretty badass as a cleric, then!”

  Demi thought about it.

  “I suppose Morgana could be called badass, yes,” she mused.

  The pair ascended the final stair and approached the hidden doorway. Two of Finn’s crates were upended nearby, empty. In the distance rumbled the swift waters of the Crescent River.

  “An escape route for council members, it seems,” Demi said. “It will lead right to the river. Let’s hope the smugglers left behind clues.”

  Olivia seemed nervous.

  “What if they’re there right now?” she asked.

  There was no reason to shield the poor girl.

  “There might be a fight,” Demi responded. “I might also learn much more. I might also be killed, and you as well. But only if we lose.”

  The cat-folk emitted a small meow of nerves but held her stance.

  “Right!” Olivia said. “I’ll be ready, because – um, I trust you, Lady Delacroix!”

  Demi smiled, realizing how rarely she heard that.

  “And I you, Olivia Knoh,” Demi said.

  Together, the rogue and cleric advanced into the roar of the Crescent River’s crescendo.