The Last Goddess

by C.E. Stalbaum

  Chapter Six

   

  Nathan Rook leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together as Rynne brought the Edehan monk into his office. It was rare for him to do any official business here, given how many drakes he’d invested in building this place and how valuable its secrecy was. But when Rynne had contacted him saying she had Tiel with her, he decided it was probably the best choice. The monk would need to see the supposed Kirshal’s body at some point if he was going to be useful to them at all, and the sooner the better.

  “Mr. Aranis,” Rook said with a nod. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

  “I have the distinct impression you would have found a way to get me here one way or another,” the monk replied.

  “Nonsense,” Rook insisted, waving his hand dismissively. “I just sent Rynne to keep an eye on you, both to see where you would go and to keep you safe.”

  Tiel cocked an eyebrow. “Safe from what?”

  “Delicate information can quickly turn disastrous if handled carelessly.”

  The monk’s eyes flicked between Rook and the big man standing in the corner of the room. Van was in full intimidation mode, his brow furrowed and his arms folded across his chest. “I see.”

  “That’s Van, my bodyguard,” Rook said.

  “He’s not as scary as he looks,” Rynne soothed. “Usually.”

  Tiel’s gaze drifted back to Rook. “I’m still a little confused about what it is you do, exactly, Mr. Rook. Vorani—Rynne—said you purchased the Kirshal from salvagers, and that you wanted to keep her away from slavers.”

  Rook shrugged. “I’m a merchant, both of goods and secrets. The latter is where you come in. I’ve been trying to get as much information as I can on the Kirshal, but as I’m sure you know, true experts are rare. Almost every religious sect in Haven has its own interpretation of what the Messiah is and what she might mean. I was hoping for something a bit more…factual. Your Master Bale was one of very few promising leads.”

  Tiel bit his lip. He was nervous—that much was obvious from his fiddling hands and tightened jaw-line—but he was hiding it reasonably well. Rynne had originally sized him up as a typical cloistered monk, though she had probably reevaluated that assessment after he’d broken into a temple of Edeh. Regardless, he looked more like a man who was determined than a skilled thief.

  “I told you Master Bale was away,” Tiel said. “That’s partially true. He’s to the south across the Ebaran border in a place called Jehalai, the headquarters of our order.”

  “Which order is that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Tiel stiffened and tilted his head back. “The Kirshane.”

  Rook met Rynne’s eyes, and they both nodded in shared understanding. “Well, that certainly explains a few things.”

  “I thought they were wiped out decades ago,” Rynne said.

   “Not entirely,” Tiel corrected. “A handful of us remain, scattered throughout the continent.”

   “I assume this is related to the Kirshal somehow?” Van asked from the corner.

  Rynne nodded at him. “They’re an ancient order of priests tasked to find the Kirshal and help her restore the gods.”

  “We’ve waited a very long time,” Tiel said softly. “I admit it’s difficult to believe the hour may finally be upon us.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t get your hopes up,” Van muttered. “Some of us still think this is pure drek.”

  “The rest of us are open to all possibilities,” Rynne replied tartly, shooting him an annoyed glare. “I’ve read a lot of stories about Kirshane monks, especially those who helped in the fight against the Balorites during the 600s. Noble warrior-priests with flowing golden hair, big muscles, and resplendent armor.” She shrugged. “Sunoan poets may have embellished a few details, of course.”

  Rook leaned forward. “Well, either way there’s no point in delaying this any longer. Why don’t you come have a look at her and we’ll go from there?”

  Tiel took a deep breath and visibly braced himself. “I should let you know beforehand that I intend to take the Kirshal to Jehalai. If you wish to help me in that task, then you are more than welcome. If you don’t…then I will have to take her by force.”

  Van grunted. “Tough words from an unarmed man in a dress. At least you have some stones, kid.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rook soothed. He had no doubt the monk would honor his vows—he had seen similar looks in many pious men over the years, and lost causes never did much to deter  them. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. “Right now, why don’t you follow me?”

  Tiel seemed to mull it over for a minute before nodding. “Very well.” He turned to Van. “And it’s a robe, by the way.”

  Van shrugged. “Uh huh.”

  Rynne chuckled and Rook smiled faintly. “This way.”

  The four of them made their way through the compound. He had cleared this entire wing in preparation for Tiel’s arrival, so no one was there to throw them odd looks or ask awkward questions. Eventually they reached the sealed doorway and he used his key to unlock its three latches.

  “You don’t trust your own people not to go in here?” Tiel asked.

  “As I said earlier, delicate information must be handled carefully,” Rook told him. “Even perfectly rational men can do stupid things in the face of the temptation.”

  He pushed open the door and they all stepped inside. Tiel immediately raced forward to the open coffin, his mouth and eyes wide. He stopped a few feet in front of it, and it was like his entire body was quivering.

  “Edeh forgive me,” he whispered, falling to his knees, “I should never have doubted you.”

  “I take it that means he thinks she’s legit,” Van commented dryly, pacing over to the other side of the coffin.

  Tiel gulped down a breath as if he were nearly choking on the air. “Everything is…just as it should be.”

  Rynne moved over and placed a reassuring hand on the monk’s shoulder. Van rolled his eyes and turned away. Rook, for his part, merely glanced down upon the mysterious woman again.

  “That’s actually what I was worried about,” he said softly.

  Tiel frowned. “Worry? Why? She’s…perfect. The Kirshal…the Messiah returned.”

  “In my experience, things rarely work out exactly the way you expect them to,” Rook warned gravely. “If they do, it usually means something is wrong.”

  “That’s a very dour way to see the world, Mr. Rook.”

  Rook grunted. “Maybe, but in my experience, it’s also an accurate one.” He paused and let the other man recover from his shock. “Tell me this: would it be possible for someone to copy these markings?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Chiseling out inscriptions on a coffin isn’t difficult,” Rook explained. “Neither is tattooing someone’s skin. Isn’t it possible that someone dressed her up like this for show?”

  “I…” Tiel said, trailing off as he shook his head. 

  “Just humor him for a second,” Rynne whispered into the kid’s ear, crouching down next to him. “Take a step back, ask yourself if it would be possible for someone to fake this.”

  He met her eyes for a moment before nodding. “I suppose. But very few know the appropriate symbols.”

  “They come from those writings you picked up, right?”

  Tiel nodded, reaching down into his pack and pulling free the musty book. “Yes, this is the original source. Everything later is a variation.”

  “So someone could have read that or had another copy,” Rook reasoned.

  “I suppose, but why would anyone do that?”

  “Let’s leave the why aside for a moment,” Rook went on. “Tell me, beyond the markings, how else were the Kirshane supposed to know when the Kirshal actually returned?”

  Tiel licked at his lips. “Again, that depends upon the interpretation.”

  “Focus on that thing,” Rynne said, gesturing to the book. “What does it say?�
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  “The Kirshal would have power over life and death,” he told them. “She would be able to reach into the Fane and release any souls trapped within it. This is how she would free the gods and restore Septuria.”

  Rook nodded. “All right. Anything else? I’m thinking more tangible details. Was she supposed to be asleep? And if so, how was she supposed to awaken?”

  “A ritual,” Tiel said, “performed by a dozen Kirshane priests.”

  “I’m no mage, but aren’t rituals just a lot of chanting and waving that doesn’t really do anything?” Van asked.

  Rook shrugged. “Some. Those that use varium typically involve actual spells woven in a particular sequence. I’m guessing this falls into that category. The Kirshane would know more than anyone.”

  “She must be taken to Jehalai,” the monk insisted. “Master Bale will have the proper reagents for the ritual…and then the Restoration can finally begin.”

  Van tossed Rook a very clear “he’s insane” look and shook his head. Rynne still had her arm on the young man’s shoulder, and her eyes seemed lost on the woman in the coffin. It was, Rook noted, about as predictable as he could imagine. The monk and the Sunoan were willing to take a leap of faith, while the two Ebarans couldn’t get past their own skepticism.

  He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. It certainly wasn’t as illuminating as he hoped, but it was probably more than he should have expected. He had read about the Kirshane during his time at the university, and his wife, Lurien, had possessed a rather odd fascination with them. But that was a long time ago and the lessons had faded. Regardless, the Kirshane were more likely to be useful than any group he could think of in Haven. He just wished figuring out the truth was as easy as waving his hands and weaving a spell. Sadly, even magic didn’t work like that.

  “Seems like this Jehalai might end up being our best choice,” Rook said softly.

  “Wait a minute,” Van snapped. “You’re not seriously considering taking her there, are you?”

  Rook cocked an eyebrow at his old friend. “We were going to have to move her out of here soon anyway. If I can talk to Bale, I might be able to learn more.”

  The big man sighed. “Nate, this is a terrible idea. If you want to just let this guy take her, great, get it off our hands. But I really hope you’re not considering going along.”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Rynne asked, abruptly glancing up. “We could be looking at history right here. A transformation of…everything.”

  “Or we could be walking into a den of fanatics,” Van countered. “I know it goes against your nature—both of you—but really, just let this go. It’s not worth it.”

  Rynne stood and shook her head at him. “How can you say—”

  A loud thump followed by the echo of distant screams cut off her protest. Rook raised a hand in warning and sprinted over to the doorway to listen.

  “Zandrast’s blood, what was that?” Van blurted out as he dashed up next to him.

  “Upstairs,” Rook said gravely. More screams followed, along with several muffled thuds. Even several corridors away, he could vaguely make out the sound of steel clashing together…

  Tiel’s eyes closed and he clasped his hands together. His eyes glowed briefly with magic as he wove a spell. “Battle, at least a half dozen soldiers.”

  Van shook his head. “How…?”

  “Sensory enhancement spell,” Rynne explained, her face hardening. “Looks like someone finally found us.”

  “Not us,” Rook said ominously, turning to face the coffin behind him. “Her.”

  She shook her head. “But how?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Van snarled. “We already cleared out the base. We can take the escape passage in the back and get out of here before they find us.”

  Rook rubbed a hand across his beard. It was certainly the safest option, so long as he didn’t think about how many drakes it would cost him. Inventory, personal belongings…but they didn’t really have much of a choice. Even if it weren’t for the Kirshal, he wasn’t going to order his people to risk their lives for a few drakes. Or even a few thousand.

  “Right,” he agreed. “Pick her up and let’s get out of here. We’ll finish this conversation somewhere else.”

  Tiel made a move for the coffin but Van shoved a hand into his chest. “I got it, kid.”

  “She is my responsibility,” the monk countered.

  “Yeah, well, feel free to watch,” Van said, reaching down and lifting her up in his arms. “Don’t worry—I don’t plan on dropping your Messiah. Wouldn’t look good in the history books.”

  Tiel didn’t reply, and Rook peered down the hallway. “Come on—we need to move.”

  Moments later they were all jogging down the corridor. The back passage was just two quick turns away, and a few seconds later they were spinning around the corner towards it—

  And suddenly a crossbow bolt whistled past Rook’s face and lodged into the wall next to him. He threw himself backwards and reached out an arm to keep the others behind him. He’d only caught the briefest glimpse of their attackers, but it was enough.

  “Darenthi soldiers,” he breathed, pulling his pistol from its holster. “And two Faceless.”

  “What?” Rynne gasped. “How did they move that fast?”

  Rook clenched his jaw before leaning around the corner and firing a mostly blind shot.  “I don’t know, but we need to fall back. There’s some cover in the east passage.”

  They were disciplined enough not to question him in the middle of a fight, but it wasn’t difficult to know what they were thinking. After all, he was thinking the exact same thing: without the back passage, they were completely trapped. The four of them against a pair of Faceless and a half-dozen Darenthi soldiers…

  He and Van had gotten out of worse binds before, certainly, but not many. And in all of those instances, someone had gotten hurt. Or killed.

  Rook sprinted down the corridor, firing another shot behind them to cover their retreat.