Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  “They believe the Codex isn’t true?” Jane asked, her voice rising.

  Cinzia shrugged. “I found this particular theory the least interesting of the many we discussed in the seminary. But it may be relevant here. Maybe Elwene’s words are not true in the literal sense, but true in… in another sense.”

  “How can her words be true if they are not literal?” Jane asked.

  Cinzia thought about it for a moment, trying to remember what some of the priestesses who espoused this theory had told her. “It is just like an allegory, Jane, but on a larger scale. An allegory is a fiction meant to illustrate a moral.”

  “But at a certain point the fiction overpowers the lesson; a moral cannot be conveyed through deception.”

  “Really?” Cinzia asked. “Are allegories not, at their most basic level, a lie? Something that did not really occur?”

  “When you frame an allegory as an allegory, it is clear that the story being told is fictional. But when you frame an allegory as truth, that is deception, Cinzia.”

  “Even if the deception teaches a truth?” Cinzia asked. “Even if the deception makes us better?”

  “A deception cannot make people better.”

  “We might disagree in that respect,” Cinzia said.

  Jane now stood beside the cot, looking down at her. Cinzia could not be sure, but she almost sensed a hint of anger in Jane’s voice. Cinzia felt bad thinking it, but she enjoyed hearing the twinge of frustration. Jane had been so calm, unflappable, for so long now, it was good to see her falter.

  It was good to see her act human again.

  Cinzia wondered whether Jane was not getting slightly defensive at this topic. Jane had worked miracles; she could not deny that. Cinzia had worked miracles herself. But the nature of Jane’s claims still echoed discordantly to Cinzia; she was not sure, after all this time, that her sister actually communicated with the Goddess.

  Was Jane’s anger an indication that she actually did not? But that didn’t make sense. If Jane’s story was a deception, would she not embrace this narrative—that deceptions could still teach truth?

  “Cinzia, are you listening to me?”

  Cinzia blinked, and her eyes refocused on Jane.

  “I… I am sorry, sister. I lost myself for a moment.”

  “Clearly. Did you hear anything I said?”

  “You said a deception cannot make people better.”

  “And then you disagreed with me. And then I explained myself further. You remember none of that?”

  “No, Jane, I am so sorry. I have had much on my mind, lately.” That much was true, at least. Between the Sons of Canta’s blockade, Cinzia’s effort to find out more information about the Nine Daemons, and her own physical recovery from the injuries she had sustained at her encounter with the Beldam, Cinzia had felt distracted of late.

  Jane sighed, and sat down on her cot, opposite Cinzia. She slumped back, leaning on her elbows. “It is all right, sister. I understand. Sometimes I wonder what in the Sfaera we have gotten ourselves into.”

  We have gotten ourselves into? Between the two of them there seemed one clear culprit that had led them all into trouble, and it was not Cinzia. But she could not see a point in arguing. Instead, she turned back to Elwene.

  “Elwene spoke of truth in what we’ve just translated,” Cinzia said. “She said some will not recognize the truthfulness of her words. She spoke of finding the truth behind the meaning. Surely those words are significant.”

  “If she were trying to tell us something, would she not simply write it for us? What is the point in veiling it within allegory and language?”

  A thought entered Cinzia’s mind, a memory of something Jane had once said. “After Navone, after the false revelation I experienced, you said something about Canta. You said she had been blocked, somehow.”

  Jane nodded slowly. “I did say that.”

  “Could the same thing have happened with Elwene? Could something have blocked her from writing down exactly what it was she needed to say, so instead she was forced to speak in allegory?”

  Jane was silent for a moment. “That might actually make sense.”

  Cinzia was about to respond when she noticed the sun falling below the horizon. Cinzia sat up immediately. She was supposed to meet Knot.

  “I am sorry, sister, I must go.”

  “But we’ve just begun to make progress—”

  “I am sorry.” Cinzia grabbed her cloak and swept out of the tent.

  * * *

  Knot waited for her at the edge of camp.

  “Did you find anything helpful in the translation?” he asked. “Anything about the Nine Daemons?”

  “Unfortunately we did not.” They started walking together, into the woods. Cinzia felt apprehensive at making this journey once more, but she reminded herself that she had Knot at her side this time. She would be all right. “We’ve just begun translating the Words of Elwene—that’s the section by the woman who claims to have compiled the entire book—but… her words are curious, so far.

  “She claims to have lived during the Age of Marvels, for one. Of course that does not make one whit of sense. If that were true, it would mean she was abridging the records of women who lived five hundred years after her. The primary records that remain from the Age of Marvels are so few, we know very little. Legends are all we have, really…” Cinzia trailed off. She glanced at Knot, and felt her cheeks color.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “I just start rambling, sometimes.”

  “Can’t say I mind,” Knot said.

  Cinzia could not help but smile at that. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  “Should’ve told me the last time you went to see this woman. I could’ve prevented what happened to you.”

  “I made that mistake in anger,” she said. “Anger at my sister, anger at what had happened, anger at our own ignorance. I suffered the consequences of that mistake.”

  “Didn’t mean it in a way to offend you. You’re free to make choices, and I damn well don’t want to get in the way of that. Just don’t like the idea of anyone hurting you.”

  Cinzia could understand that. She felt that way herself, of course.

  “Think you’ll learn anything useful from this woman?” Knot asked.

  “I think it is worth the effort.”

  * * *

  Perhaps, after all, it was not worth the effort.

  Their meeting with the Beldam passed without more violence, but it hardly seemed helpful. The older woman had been open, at least, and that was something, but she had not said anything Cinzia did not already know.

  The Nine Daemons each had a vice or pain that fueled them: fear, wrath, death, enmity, greed, lust, insanity, deception, envy.

  They were either family or an adopted family of a sort.

  Azael was their leader, for some reason.

  There were nine of them.

  Canta’s bloody bones, perhaps this was a useless pursuit. If the Beldam hardly knew more about the Nine Daemons than Cinzia did, what was the point of meeting with her?

  She and Knot stalked through the forest, now dark but for the torches they each carried, in silence. Surely he would notice her not saying anything. He would think she was angry.

  “I am not angry,” Cinzia said.

  “That’s good,” Knot said.

  “Just because I am not talking does not mean I am angry.”

  “I don’t mind silence. Can be a good thing once in a while.”

  Cinzia blinked. Of course he did not mind the silence. He was Knot, for crying out loud. Why was she suddenly acting so strangely around him? Now that she had actually said something, called attention to the silence, he would surely think it was odd. Should she say something about that now? Or would that only make things worse?

  Goddess, why was everything so complicated?

  Knot stopped. Cinzia stopped with him.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  Knot held a finger to his lips, look
ing around slowly. After a moment, he leaned close to her, whispering, “You hear that?”

  Cinzia listened, straining her ears. She heard nothing.

  Her eyes widened. She heard nothing at all. No creaking branches, chirping crickets, wind, nothing. Now that she noticed it, the silence rushed into her ears, filling them with its emptiness.

  “What—”

  Before them, a bright blue light sliced through the darkness, as if a blade had cut an opening in the night air in front of Cinzia, and now the night bled blue light and iridescent smoke.

  Slowly, the light expanded until it seemed to encompass everything, and it grew so bright it almost became white. Then, gradually, it faded.

  But now, everything was different. Cinzia still stood in the forest—or a forest, of some kind—but the trees were shadows of what she knew, gray and ethereal, shimmering in the weird blue-gray light that enveloped everything.

  Cinzia glanced to her left, where Knot had been walking. He was not there. She felt a moment of panic, but before it bubbled up from her chest, she heard a voice. Female, low, and inviting.

  “Welcome, my daughter. I am glad I have found you.”

  Cinzia blinked, shielding her eyes as a form took shape before her, coalescing from the bright blue light.

  “You are not Canta,” Cinzia said immediately. The feeling radiated from her bones, deep within her. She could still recall that moment on the rooftop in Izet; she had felt love from the Goddess of late, as well as comfort and serenity.

  She felt none of those things now.

  “No need to mention her, darling. I would never expect you to think I was such an outcast.”

  An outcast? Canta?

  “You are one of the Nine Daemons,” Cinzia said. The form had finally taken shape before her, and Cinzia found herself face to face with the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Smooth, unblemished skin glowed with a faint blue light, and the woman’s eyes glowed a blue even brighter—Cinzia raised an arm in front of her face to shield herself from their brilliance. The woman’s hair, also tinged with blue, flowed in waves over her shoulders and back. Her arms, long and elegant, extended outward, greeting Cinzia, but though her fingers were slender, they ended in sharp claws. Cinzia was envious of the woman’s beauty, until she saw the claws. A sharp end to something so beautiful. She could not help but imagine a deep blue rose, accented by sharp thorns.

  “Of course I am,” the figure said. “The question is, do you know which one?”

  Cinzia almost laughed. She felt afraid, to be sure, but the irony was not lost on her, either. She had been so desperate for information about these beings, and here one was, standing before her.

  “Are you going to make me guess?”

  The woman frowned. “Not if you don’t want to, although I am disappointed you wouldn’t at least try.”

  When Cinzia did not respond, the woman sighed. “Very well. I am Luceraf.”

  “Enmity,” Cinzia whispered.

  Luceraf stared at Cinzia, eyes cold despite the bright light emanating from them. “Enmity,” she said, spitting the word out of her mouth. “Is that all anyone can ever think when they hear my name?”

  “Is there anything else to be thought?” Cinzia asked.

  Luceraf held Cinzia with her cold gaze for another few moments. Panic slowly began to rise in Cinzia’s chest. Was she making a mistake, speaking so flippantly with a Daemon? If Luceraf wanted Cinzia dead, Cinzia would end up dead, of that she had no doubt. If Luceraf wanted something else, however…

  Suddenly Luceraf threw back her head and laughed, the sound echoing in the dreary gray forest.

  “No,” she said, after the laughter had subsided, although Cinzia could swear she could still hear it echoing all around them. “No, I suppose there is not. Not after so much time has passed. Not after my legacy has been tainted, diluted to what is only a small part of me.”

  “So you do not embody enmity?” Cinzia asked, endeavoring to keep the hint of hope from her voice. If she was truly in the presence of one of the Nine, there was no reason not to try to get a bit of information from the Daemon.

  “What does that even mean, to embody something?” Luceraf mused. And she was musing, clearly. The woman turned and actually began pacing before Cinzia.

  “Of course I know what it means technically, but what does it mean when said in reference to an actual person? Can any concept truly be diminished to a single paradigm? Is thought not more complicated? Are people not always more than the parts that make them?”

  “People, perhaps,” Cinzia said. “But you are a Daemon.”

  Luceraf laughed again, but there was no humor to the sound this time. Luceraf’s chin fell as the chuckle leaked from her.

  “Is that what I am?” she asked softly, in a moment that reminded Cinzia of Astrid. But, just as quickly as the vulnerability showed itself, it was gone, and Luceraf glared at Cinzia once more with hard, glowing blue eyes.

  “What I am does not concern you,” the Daemon said. “But I am sure you have other questions for me.”

  Cinzia stared at Luceraf, blinking. “Why have you come to me? Why now?” The bizarreness of the situation overwhelmed her.

  “And where is Knot?” she added, embarrassed she had not asked the question already.

  She also wanted to ask why Luceraf had not killed her yet, but there did not seem to be much point in bringing that up if the Daemon herself did not care to discuss it.

  “Not here. When I return you to the Sfaera, he will be waiting for you.”

  Cinzia felt a rush of relief, not only that Knot was all right, but that she would—supposedly, if Luceraf could remotely be trusted—be returned to the Sfaera.

  “I have come to you, specifically,” Luceraf continued, “because I think you are a person of great import in many coming conflicts—and you desire more knowledge about us. I wanted to introduce myself to you.”

  “Can I trust you?” Cinzia asked. She might as well at least try to establish that early, although no matter Luceraf’s response, the issue was still highly problematic.

  “I think you already know the answer to that.”

  “If I cannot trust you, what is the point of speaking with you?”

  “I have nothing to lose in sharing information.”

  “And you have everything to gain?”

  “I have… something to gain, yes.”

  “And what is that?”

  Luceraf frowned. “I am giving you an opportunity to satiate your curiosity, Cinzia. Are you going to accept my information or not?”

  “Where do you come from?”

  Luceraf closed her eyes, winking out what Cinzia now realized was the source of most of the light in wherever she was. The strange gray forest around her darkened for a moment, illuminated only by the faint blue of Luceraf’s skin and hair, until she opened her eyes once more.

  “I am from separate worlds, before they were separate,” she said. “Before the sundering.”

  “The sundering?” Cinzia asked.

  “An event you will not recognize, of course. But perhaps the most important event in all of history.”

  “I never heard anything about a sundering in the Denomination.”

  “Even if they knew about it, they would not say anything. It goes against their entire dogma.”

  “What was the sundering?” Cinzia asked.

  “It was a war, and a great battle between gods. The biverse was never the same afterwards.”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind. You need to ask different questions, Cinzia. I could not possibly explain everything about the sundering in the few moments we have left.”

  Cinzia scoffed. The few moments they had left? But she could not pass up the opportunity for more information. This was what she had been seeking, was it not?

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “Many thousands of years,” Luceraf said.

  “Are you a goddess?”

  “Yes… and no.”


  “Can you be killed?”

  “Any living thing can be killed.”

  “Can you?”

  Luceraf smiled. “Time is up, Cinzia. I will come to you again, but you must understand that you cannot tell anyone about our meeting. I will keep it a secret on my end, but you must also keep it a secret on yours. Your sister would never understand. Neither would Knot. If you want me to come to you again, you must keep this from them.”

  Before Cinzia could respond, she felt a rush around her, and the whole gray world around her seemed to expand, then contract, and then she was back in the forest, surrounded by darkness.

  “Cinzia? Did you hear what I said?”

  Cinzia looked at Knot standing next to her, and for the briefest moment wanted to tell him everything about Luceraf. She did not want to have to lie to anyone, least of all him.

  But she did not tell him. She could not, not when she was so close to finally getting the information she had sought for so long.

  “I… How long was I gone?” Cinzia asked.

  “Gone? What’re you talking about?” Knot frowned at her. The torch he held crackled faintly.

  “The silence is gone,” she said suddenly. She could hear the rustle of trees, and all the other noises of night that she had never realized could be so comforting.

  “Aye,” Knot muttered. “Already said that, but aye.”

  “I am sorry, Knot. I am all right, now. Shall we make our way back to camp?”

  Knot nodded, once, and then led the way through the forest, Cinzia walking close by his side.

  15

  KNOT KNEW CINZIA WAS hiding something, but he did not want to press the woman. She would tell him if, and when, she was ready. Just as he would tell her what had happened to him, if he could ever understand it.

  When Cinzia had frozen, her eyes locked on something ahead, Knot had been conscious of something happening to him as well. His vision had darkened at the edges, and he’d felt himself being pulled back, deep into himself. It felt very much like the moments in which he’d experienced episodes months ago, before Wyle had healed him.

  Perhaps even Wyle’s efforts had only offered him a temporary fix. But, at the same time, he did not think that was the case. He did feel stable now, and had since Wyle helped him, in a way that he had not since he’d awoken in Pranna. But he had felt the sensation nonetheless, and while it had not amounted to anything, the memory of it made the hairs on his neck and arms stand on end.