“I am not sure what you—”
Cinzia shook her head, taking another step away from the Essera. “No,” she said, “we are past that, I am afraid. You cannot lie to me as if I were a little girl, Essera. You cannot lie to me as if I were still one of your priestesses.”
The Essera looked at Cinzia, the woman’s face slowly morphing into something expressionless, something… dead. Goddess, for just a moment Cinzia recognized a flash of the same deadness she had seen in Knot’s face, and in Code’s so long ago.
The Essera sighed, her shoulders slumping.
“Call me Arcana,” the Essera said. “And I shall just call you Cinzia. No more of this ‘child’ nonsense. We’re both adults here, after all.”
“Call you… Arcana?” Cinzia repeated. She had almost preferred it when the woman was playing the part of the Essera as she expected it; this new personality, whether the woman’s true self or just an act, put Cinzia completely off her guard.
As, Cinzia imagined, it was meant to do.
“I’m lauded as the great Essera of the Cantic Denomination every day, all day long, and it will continue that way for the rest of my life, I think. A break is welcome.” The Essera indicated the room they were in. “But you came here for something—not to meet me.”
It felt like permission, of a kind. With the Essera at her side, Cinzia began to slowly walk through the Vault, and really take it in for the first time.
It was not stocked full of documents and artifacts, as Cinzia had expected it to be. It took her only a moment to count nine pure white marble pedestals, each with an item of some kind on a platform at their top.
“Of course it is nine,” Cinzia whispered.
“Numbers are significant,” the Essera said, “more so than any of us realize. And the number nine, well, it is one of the most important.”
“Just because it is repeated often in history,” Cinzia said quietly, “does not make it something magical or divine.”
“I would not be so sure,” the Essera said. “There is power in repetition. There is power in what people think, and repetition can shape what they think—even what they believe.”
“What are all of these things, then?” Cinzia asked, gazing around at each of the items: a large book, not unlike the Codex; a pile of pages, unbound and loose, yet stacked in perfect symmetry; a large dagger, perhaps the length of Cinzia’s forearm, with a wide, dark gray blade, hilt wrapped in dark leather, and a bright blue jewel embedded in the pommel; a velvet box with a gold-and-silver Trinacrya embedded on the lid; a simple folded brown cloth; a Trinacrya larger than Cinzia’s spread fingers that almost seemed to give off its own light; and, perhaps oddest of all, an entire dining set—plates, bowls, cutlery, cups, and a goblet, all carved from some strange dark stone, and set up atop the pedestal as if someone were about to sit down to eat there. Just as the Trinacrya seemed to give off its own light, this dining set also had the faintest of glows coming from it, if Cinzia looked at the thing sideways, anyway, although the colors emanating from the plates, forks, and so forth seemed multicolored in nature. Lastly, the pedestal closest to Cinzia held a blood-red jewel, oblong in shape; one moment it seemed no larger than the last joint of Cinzia’s thumb, the next the size of an egg, and then the size of a human head, and in the blink of an eye it shifted back to the size of Cinzia’s thumb.
The ninth pedestal was empty.
“Keepsakes,” the Essera said. “Items of great value and worth. Illusions. There are even a few magical artifacts, if you could believe such a thing.”
“You would be surprised what I…”
Cinzia stopped. The words felt wrong in her mouth as she formed them, and she trailed off.
Her personal beliefs, or lack thereof, aside, what Cinzia saw fascinated her. I want to know about all of them, she wanted to say. Tell me their names. Tell me what they do, where they came from. Tell me their importance and significance.
But she was here for a reason. Cinzia could not forget that.
“I need to fight the Nine Daemons,” Cinzia said. “I need something that will help me combat them.”
“Something to fight the Nine Daemons,” the Essera said slowly. “I can’t pretend I did not expect this, Cinzia, but… how can you be sure such a thing exists? Let alone in this room?”
Cinzia glared at the Essera. “It is here,” she said. “I know it is. It must be here.”
“You have faith that it is here, then?” the Essera asked.
Faith. That word again. A thing Cinzia had once had, as a priestess. Or thought she had possessed, at least. Then she had found her sister, at the head of something she could only believe was heretical… and yet she witnessed miracles from her sister, and herself, as well.
But then, she had realized many things about faith. That she could have faith, and give up her own right to control.
Why did she not feel that way now?
Perhaps because you no longer have any idea who, or what, you are supposed to have faith in anymore.
She remembered feeling love on the rooftops of Izet. She remembered that sense of innate worth, of acceptance. She had thought it had come from Canta at the time.
Was it possible the feelings had not?
“Why don’t you ask the question you truly came here to ask?” the Essera said. “It is time you got this off your chest.”
Cinzia frowned, frustrated.
“Is…” As the question formed in her mind, she immediately felt stupid for even asking such a thing, but she was too far into it now, the chance to have someone like the Essera answer it too tempting; the potential for an answer overtook any embarrassment she felt. “Is Canta real? Does she truly exist?”
Now there is a question worth answering, Luceraf said, her voice once again devoid of sarcasm or anger.
The Essera’s shoulders rose and fell, either in a slow shrug or a long, deep breath.
“Of course she is real,” the Essera said. “You have witnessed her miracles firsthand. You have felt her love, have you not?”
“Her miracles? You mean what we have done with the Codex?”
“That, and all the other things you, the other disciples, and your sister herself have done.”
“Then we are not heretics?” Cinzia asked, unable to hide her confusion.
“Oh, you are certainly heretics. There can be no doubt about that. But that does not mean what you have done is not miraculous. That does not mean what you have done does not come from Canta. Or, at least, some version of her.”
Some version of her?
“Whether she exists was not quite the right question, either, Cinzia. Think harder. Look deeper. There is something more.”
Arcana’s answers only produced more questions, but Cinzia felt a strange, momentary sense of peace as she settled on her final question.
“If Canta exists… does it matter?” Cinzia asked slowly.
Arcana nodded, although this time Cinzia knew, somehow, that it was not in answer to the question, but in affirmation of the question itself.
“There it is,” Arcana said softly.
Cinzia looked around at each of the artifacts again. She thought of where she was—above Canta’s Fane, one of the most impressive structures ever built, something that took decades to complete. She thought of the Denomination itself, the organization that had dictated how people had lived and loved and died for centuries. She thought of how she had jumped from the Denomination to Jane’s movement, without so much as asking why.
She looked back up at Arcana, their eyes meeting once more.
“Does it?” she asked, repeating her question. “What is the answer?”
Of course it matters, a part of Cinzia wanted to scream. It matters because if it does not, what has all of this been for? What has been the purpose of Jane’s entire movement? What has been the purpose of the Denomination meddling in the lives of countless people throughout the ages? It must matter, because if it does not, then we are truly lost. It must matter, because
if the evils the Denomination has brought upon the people of the Sfaera are simply… human evils, then it is not a world worth living in.
And if those evils are from a deity, how is that better? a voice asked in her mind. Whether it was her own, or Luceraf’s, Cinzia was not sure.
Arcana’s lips formed a thin, flat line. “I do not offer answers, Cinzia. I am only here to help you ask the right questions.”
“What in Oblivion is that supposed to mean?”
“What would you have me say? That yes, it does matter? Or that it should? Or would you rather I told you Canta’s existence does not matter at all? Or should I answer your question with another question, and ask you why in Oblivion my opinion on all of it matters?”
“Your opinion on all of this matters,” Cinzia said through gritted teeth, “because you are the Essera. You are supposed to be Canta’s mouthpiece on the Sfaera. You are supposed to speak for her.”
“I do,” Arcana said, “and I have. But not always. You know this. I speak for her, but I am not her, Cinzi.”
Cinzia began pacing, still shaking her head. “Do not call me that,” she said.
Arcana inclined her head, but her demeanor did not change.
“So I came all this way to not get an answer?” Cinzia asked.
“I think you came all this way,” Arcana said slowly, “To learn the right question.”
Cinzia’s legs wobbled, and her knees suddenly felt very weak. She leaned her back against one of the columns, and before she knew it she slid down until she sat on the floor of the Vault, her head in her hands.
“This cannot be all there is,” Cinzia said quietly. “Questions, and more questions. Only questions, and no answers.”
“I never said there were no answers,” Arcana said. “But there are fewer than we like to think. And between the two, the question is by far the more important.”
Cinzia snorted.
“There are questions and answers, and there are questions and choices. We ask questions, and we rarely get answers… but we can always make choices.”
“I did not come here for a life lesson,” Cinzia said.
“And yet here you are, getting one, and for free, more or less.” Arcana smiled, and Cinzia could have sworn the woman winked. “Canta be blessed.”
Cinzia sighed in frustration. “As fascinating as this conversation is,” she said, only meaning it sarcastically in part, “I do have important business to be about. As, I am sure, do you.”
“Don’t I always,” Arcana muttered. “Very well. If you insist we move on to the business at hand, we shall. In so doing we will reach one of those aforementioned choices, Cinzia.”
Steadying herself on the ground, Cinzia stood awkwardly, brushing dust from her dress. “And what choice is that?” Cinzia asked, looking around at each of the artifacts. “I need to take whatever will help me fight the Nine Daemons the best,” she said. “It seems to me that there can only be one choice, given that information.”
“That is what you need,” Arcana said, “but you have yet to take into account what you want.”
Cinzia threw up her hands. “Oblivion, enough with the games, Arcana! Just tell me what is going on.”
“You can only take one item from this room,” Arcana said.
Cinzia eyed each of the items warily. “What do you mean? There is some kind of curse on them, then? Or this room as a whole?”
Arcana laughed. “Nothing so mystical. I have told my closest aids of our situation. A group of Goddessguards and Sons, along with psimantically powerful priestesses, await the outcome. If anything should happen to me, or if you leave this room with more than one item, they will kill you. And your friends.”
“My… friends,” Cinzia asked.
“We apprehended the vampire and your friend Knot on their way out of the Fane,” she said. “They are in our custody.”
Cinzia’s heart stopped. “Knot—”
“—is fine,” Arcana said, “for now. As is the vampire. As long as you play by the rules, Cinzia.”
“Why are you doing this?” Cinzia asked, all of her confidence deflating. After all of their planning, all of their sneaking around and organization, this was the result? “You could take all of us captive. You could kill us, if you wish. What is stopping you? Why allow me to just… walk out, with an artifact?”
“Believe it or not,” Arcana said, “we are not completely at odds, you and I. Outward appearances dictate I respond in a certain way to you, your sister, and the so-called ‘church’ you’ve initiated. But that does not mean we are enemies, Cinzia.”
“You are saying,” Cinzia said, “you want to see the Nine Daemons defeated as much as I do.”
“Of course,” Arcana said. “Don’t we all want that?”
Something about the way the woman said those words made Cinzia pause, but too many other thoughts overwhelmed her before she could continue down that path. “You are going to give us something to help us fight the Nine Daemons,” Cinzia said slowly, “so that you do not have to?”
“More or less.”
“You want to use us,” Cinzia said, “as weapons to do the work that you do not wish to do?”
“You can think of it that way if you wish, but it is only a half-truth. We want you to be our weapons, yes, but we need you to do the work that we cannot do. It is not a matter of convenience or wish, Cinzia. It is a matter of ability. You and your group have abilities and freedoms that we in the Denomination do not have.”
“You also have a corrupt Cult within your own organization,” Cinzia said bitterly. “How can I trust that you are not in league with them? That you are not their leader, for Canta’s sake?”
“I already told you,” Arcana said patiently, “The only reason we find ourselves in this unique situation is that I came here to hide from the Cult. I knew I would be no match for Garyne, not alone. So I hid here.”
“You set a trap for me.”
“When I saw you coming, I knew I had an opportunity. I took advantage of it.” Arcana said, with another demure shrug. “You have the question, Cinzia. Now, let me present you with the choice.”
Cinzia took a deep breath. She had no other option if Knot and Astrid truly were in danger; she needed to do as asked. “Very well. I can choose one of the eight items, I suppose?” She walked to the nearest pedestal—the one holding the dark crimson jewel.
“You can choose one of two items, actually,” Arcana said. “We know what you need, or what you think you need, at least. I have an idea of what you want, as well. Your choice will be between the two.”
“And there are two items here that will satisfy each of those requirements?” Cinzia asked, incredulous.
“There are,” Arcana said. “The first is that jewel, the one you are so close to touching.”
Cinzia’s hand was already halfway toward the jewel.
Don’t be a fool, Cinzia. That was Luceraf, to be certain. This woman is insane. She has no idea what she is talking about.
Strange that you have been silent for so long, Cinzia responded thoughtfully. I take it you have been listening to everything she says. You are the common enemy here. Should I not just do the opposite of whatever it is you want?
You cannot be sure, Luceraf whispered. I might be trying to trick you.
Luceraf was right, of course, but the way the Daemon whined the words made Cinzia confident in her assessment. Luceraf’s outburst just now had been one of self-preservation, and the Daemon was only trying to cover her response, now.
“I wouldn’t recommend touching it, if I were you,” Arcana said. “Not yet, at least. If the history behind that object is to be believed, it can have very ugly effects on those who are not worthy or ready to wield its power.”
“This will help me combat the Nine Daemons?” Cinzia asked, taking a careful step back from the red jewel. The fact that Luceraf did not like the item made her confident, but she did not want to touch it until she was ready.
“That,” Arcana said, “i
s Canta’s Heart. It warns of the presence of any of the Nine, and when used with the correct sacrifice, it has the power to overcome them. To cast them out.”
To cast them out.
A small, twinkling star of hope burst in Cinzia’s soul.
I could be rid of you.
Do not be so sure, the Daemon said. That does not work the way you think it does.
But the Daemon sounded afraid, and that in and of itself gave Cinzia courage.
“I think,” Arcana said, looking Cinzia up and down, “you might have particular need of such a thing.”
Cinzia shot the woman a glance. “What do you know of that?”
“I know what possesses you,” Arcana said simply. “Beyond that…” She shrugged. “But I do think this could help you, if you chose it.”
Cinzia stared at the gem. It continued to shift sizes, though the longer Cinzia looked at it, the more stable it seemed to become. It now only fluctuated between the size of an egg and the size of a man’s fist. While its deep red color shone brightly, Cinzia also noticed what appeared to be bursts of other colors. She was not sure whether it was a trick of the light, or reflections, or something else altogether, but the burst of color appeared to come from within the gem itself.
“And my other option?” Cinzia asked, still staring at the gem.
Arcana walked away from Cinzia, and with some effort she tore her gaze away from the gem so she could follow the Essera.
The woman led her to the two pedestals Cinzia had seen first; the two pedestals between which Arcana had stood when Cinzia had first entered the room. To the left, a pedestal held the book that looked so much like the Codex of Elwene. Cinzia wondered if, somehow, this actually was a copy of the Codex, exactly as she and Jane had been translating, until Cinzia had been robbed of that privilege.
The gem will help me gain that privilege back again, Cinzia thought.
But you would lose your strength, Luceraf whispered, the speed with which I have blessed you.
Cinzia allowed herself a smile. The Daemon, apparently, no longer cared whether Cinzia thought she was bluffing or not.
Arcana pointed one long, bony finger at the stack of papers on the other pedestal. “This,” she said, “will tell you the truth. I cannot say for certain, but it may hold answers to some of the questions that seem to concern you so.”
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