by Scott Hale
Spying on Isla Taggart. Spying on Audra of Eldrus and making him think she was a Worm of the Earth. The Bloodless… that bloodsucking mythological plant. The Winnowers’ Chapter. She had forced him to watch as the holy children crushed the Chapter’s leaders’ heads. The Cult of the Worm… the Cult of the Worm had attacked him when he tried to rescue Vrana. The Divide. The battle on the Divide. So many died in the conscription to the Arachne.
Samuel Turov and Alexander Blodworth. The Exemplar of Restraint and his understudy. They’d both conspired against the Holy Order. Samuel Turov had stolen Felix from Penance, took him into the South to... to use him. And Alexander Blodworth had gone to Geharra and killed the whole city to summon the Red Worm.
Felix reached for the chain of the necklace he wore. He always wore it. He rubbed the pale stone. It nibbled on his fingers with invisible, eldritch electricity. Justine had given it to him. The necklace was the only thing that could put her, the White Worm of the Earth, back to sleep.
She had given it to him. Would she have if any of those other things hadn’t happened? Felix closed his eyes, sealing the tears there between the lids.
“That’s what we do. We hurt the ones we love trying to love them. I’ll admit that me and Ichor’s situation isn’t normal. I’ve learned a thing or two about our background, though. I reckon we have our reasons.”
Felix glanced at her. What was she talking about?
A blue light seeped from the corner of Hex’s eyes, and faded. “What’s your background?”
“I’m the Holy Child.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? You’re flesh and blood and Corrupted. The Disciples got something out of a nightmare sitting in the south with a volcano up Its ass. You think people want another proper noun in their life? They aren’t going to forget about the freakshow Justine put on at the Divide. Everyone’s going to know she’s a Worm. That just leaves you. You’re young. They’re going to think she’s got you brainwashed. But if you can make them think you’re not—”
“I’m not.”
“—they’ll follow you. You’re easier on the eyes than the alternative.”
“You don’t believe in the Vermillion God,” Felix said.
“Of course, I do.”
“What about our god? The true god.”
Hex laughed. “You and Justine? Yeah, I believe in you, too. Why do you think I’m working for you?”
We’re not gods, he thought; even though that’s exactly what they’d positioned themselves to be.
“Tried to take down Edgar years ago with Geharra’s help,” Hex said. “Things didn’t work out. Geharra got genocided for it.”
“That was Alexander Blodworth.”
Hex looked at him like he was an idiot and said, “I’m working for you. For you, Felix.”
He didn’t correct her for using his real name. Instead, he mumbled, “Huh?”
“I didn’t answer your question about why I’m torturing my brother. If you ask a question, get your answer. No matter what.
“I torture Ichor because I like it. It excites me. And when I think about how he might best me… It’s very exciting. But that’s not the only reason. You see, there’s nothing stronger than the prayers of a prisoner. Can you see underneath him?”
Felix noticed he’d drifted closer to Hex. He didn’t realize he’d done it, but he didn’t correct his course, either. Instead, he leaned forward and squinted—not that it made it difference, but he believed it did—at Ichor on the altar.
He could see underneath him. Beneath the ball of vermillion veins and burnt pieces of skin and organs ran a black, glistening tube. At first, Felix had thought it was only part of Ichor’s body, but there were cracks in the altar from where the tube touched and it almost looked like… It was. The tube had broken through the top of the altar. It had dug down deep into it.
“A prisoner has nothing. They pray and pray; for forgiveness, for absolution; to be different; to get a second chance. It’s transformative. It’s like a trapped animal chewing through its leg and smiling while it does it.
“Ichor got on the Disciple’s good side somehow. He went to Carpenter Plantation. That’s just outside of Cathedra. Ever heard of it?”
Felix shook his head.
“They harvested vermillion veins there. Put them in corpses and planted the corpses across the Heartland to make them spread the veins. Place burned down. The Marrow Cabal did that,” she said this proudly. “I think Ichor went there and got his hands on some seeds of heaven. Someone sent him to the Dismal Sticks in the Dires to spread the Disciples’ reach there. Obviously, things didn’t work out for him that time.
“Now, here he is, somehow having survived the seed. And here I am. I can hurt him so much more than I used to. I’m not sure he can even die. And every time I hurt him, he digs deeper for God, sending out prayers like SOSs.”
Felix shook his head. “You’re just going to keep torturing him. What if he never connects with It?”
“Either way, we’ll learn something,” she said. “About God, or at least, ourselves.”
“Your plan isn’t going to work,” he said, sliding down the pew away from her. “Not the way you say it will. You can’t speak to It. No one can understand It except for the Speaker.”
“Ye of little faith.”
“The Dead City,” Felix said, remembering Hex had mentioned it when he first saw Ichor. “What about it?”
“Well, the Skeleton went there, and when he came back, rumors spread that the disease clouds that covered it were gone. A lot of riches to be plundered up there. A lot of weapons to be wielded.”
“It’s too far away.”
“With the right friend and the right ingredients, it’s a lot closer than you might think,” Hex said.
An annoying buzzing sound swept across Felix’s ear. He swiped at the air, and noticed a lone mosquito drifting in the dark. “Mr. Haemo,” he whispered.
“Maybe.” Hex came to her feet. “The bug has his own ulterior motives. I’m hesitant to feed them, but you’re the boss.”
Watching her head back towards Ichor, he said, “Torture Ichor. Use Mr. Haemo to get armed in the Dead City. Those are the only plans you have to help us?”
“Well—” Hex stopped, half-cocked, “—there’s always marching into Eldrus. I’m sure King Edgar would love to have the Marrow Cabal as his own prisoners, and you as a guest. I have a lot of plans, Holy Child. But killing God isn’t one of them. Is that what you were hoping for? A way to kill God? Ha!”
She stared at him for a long time. It wasn’t until he realized she was staring at the chain of the sealing stone’s necklace that she finally said, “I can if you want. Kill one of these gods. Just say the word.” She smiled the saddest smile he’d ever seen and whispered, “Blink twice if you need help.”
Felix hurried out of the abandoned chapel, unsettled. His stomach ached. He wasn’t sick. It wasn’t like he was going to throw up. It was like… like it was smaller, or bigger; like when he’d lost his baby teeth, and he used to tongue his gums where they’d once been, before his teeth grew back. Something was different. Neither right nor wrong. Something new was coming, or maybe it was already here, pushing through… pushing through him.
“Oh my god, shut up,” he told himself. He grabbed his head and two handfuls of hair and fell against the nearest wall. His eyes snapped open. He looked to his left and right to make sure he was alone. No one was going to hear what he was about to think, but he had to be sure.
And once he was, there it was, repeating over and over in his mind, in the voice he’d once heard that had been god’s: Justine’s dying.
She had to be, right? Why was she doing this? Why was Hex making all those hints? What was that thing… that face… in her chest? Was it the Divide? When she revealed herself and shared her boon with him, was that what killed her? Or had she been dying this whole time?
Felix walked through Cenotaph, going nowhere in particular. He wanted to see Justine, bu
t he didn’t know where she was or what she would say to him. Because if she told him she was dying or giving up, he just might do the same. They were in this together. He couldn’t do this without her. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Sure, he wanted to save the people, especially the kids like him, from all the perverts and… but there were so many to save.
Is that why you don’t do anything? Felix went to the nearest window that faced southward and stared at God in the dim, morning vapors. You can’t help all of them, so you don’t help any of them. You just take all of the credit, and none of the consequences. He fogged the glass with his hot breath until the shape of God was gone. Then, he wiped the fog away, and God was gone.
Because Justine’s reflection stood in Its place.
He spun around and slammed into her with a hug.
“What is it?” She pressed her nose into his hair and breathed him in. “It is a wonderful day.”
Felix squeezed her harder. The contrition knife in his pocket pressed against her side through his robe. He smelled something burning. His chest burned, too. Quickly, he pulled away. That close to the White Worm, and her sealing stone had begun to react.
“S-Sorry,” he said. Blurting it out: “Are you dying?!”
Justine stared at him, her mouth agape.
Seconds passed. Again, almost reaching out to push her, he cried, “Are you?!”
“No, love, no.” She outstretched her arm, and he went back in to the hug he’d left behind. “Why do you think that? Have I been acting differently?”
He nodded.
“And everything is different, too, isn’t it?”
Again, he nodded.
“I’m sorry, Felix. I hate that you have to be here doing this with me, but King Edgar gave us no choice.”
He sniffed his noise. Hard bumps, like swollen fingertips, pressed at Felix’s face from behind Justine’s clothes and skin. The things inside her were trying to comfort him, or at least, tell him something.
“But I’m glad. I couldn’t do this without you.”
Hex’s words echoed in his head: She’s not human. You are.
“And I know it seems strange all the trust I put in the Marrow Cabal, but we can use them. We can use anyone who opposes the Disciples. The Cabal just happened to be on the way to here.” She paused, pulled away as the sealing stone started to react again to her presence. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you if you wanted to work with them. You have so much on your shoulders already.”
Felix’s ears picked up new sounds coming from outside Cenotaph. His awareness drew a smile from Justine. He could feel what he could hear through his feet. Now, there were voices coming through the window, through the cracks in the cathedral’s stones. They were drawer closer, drawing in all around them. He panicked, and realized that, still, Justine was smiling.
“It’s Narcissus,” she said.
The army was here. They were finally here. Was that it? Had that been his problem? He smiled and felt warm all over. Every bit of anxiety inside of him thawed. The tightness in his shoulders that’d probably been there for months finally faded. He steadied his breathing; and felt stupid for worrying.
When they had arrived in Cathedra, they came to the town of one thousand with a thousand of their own; the other two-and-a-half-thousand of the conscription having perished on the banks and the webs of the Divide. Cramming an extra thousand wounded and traumatized soldiers into a town meant for that amount alone might’ve been impossible for other places, but not for Cathedra, because anyone who knew anything about the Holy Order knew that, once, Cathedra had been the intended capital for the religion; and though it never worked out, the town never gave up on the idea either.
So, when Felix and Justine marched through its snowy woodlands and up to its frozen gates, Cathedra welcomed them with open arms… and the smug smile of pure validation.
But then Justine locked him and her up in Cenotaph Cathedral. She’d told him he was safe, but he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere; at least, not until Narcissus came.
“Cathedra loves the Holy Order so much, if we’re not careful, they might tear it to pieces,” she had mentioned to him that first night they stayed in the town. It sounded eerily similar to what Hex had told him about love.
That didn’t matter now, though. Narcissus was here. The town of wannabes and the recruited criminals and killers that filled the conscription weren’t a threat anymore. He wouldn’t have to worry about people storming Cenotaph for shelter, or for him and Justine, to make them turn the Holy Order into what they’ve always wanted it to be, just like the Winnowers’ Chapter had tried in Pyra. Narcissus was here. He could finally feel safe. And finally, things could happen.
“I want you to give a speech. The people need to see you,” Justine said.
He nodded eagerly. He needed to see them, too; to know they still loved him. Then, he’d feel like the Holy Child again.
Felix stood behind the massive wooden doors that let out to Cathedra, his guard of stone Holy Children behind him—angels; that’s what he and Justine had convinced their congregation they were. Sweat poured down his face, not because he was nervous, though he was a little, but because of the new vestments Justine had given to him an hour ago, which he wore. If he had to guess, they were from the same material she used to weave her clothes, as well as the armor she’d given to Captain Millicent. The vestment was pearlescent, shimmering like a sea shell when the light hit it just right; two aquamarine lines ran down his chest, while a single, thicker, band ran the cuffs of his sleeves. Throughout the robe, there were pale symbols, worm-like in appearance. She had said they were ancient runes, but if that were true, they were ancient runes from where she was from—the Deep; and if that were true, then weren’t they in the language of the Vermillion God?
It was the inside of the vestments that made him sweat, though—the material lining the robe. It was oily, but it didn’t leave behind a residue, and it clung to him, almost like it were hugging him. He’d seen butchers at work many times before, skinning and gutting game. The lining inside the robe looked like, felt like, fat.
Another question among many others he’d have to ask Justine one day. But not today. Today, he felt good, and he didn’t want any more bad news. Everything was changing. If he could just have his speeches, then at least one thing would stay the same.
The wooden doors pulled open from the outside. Winter forced itself onto him through the widening gap, but he took it with a smile. Cathedra was a blinding blur beyond the doors—the sun catching on all the snow and the white facades of the town. Unprepared, because he was never prepared for these speeches, he imagined what god might want him to say, and then god spoke to him; and with that, he walked into the light.
Before he could see Cathedra, he could hear them. A deafening clap of applauses swallowed him whole. Their excitement was magnetic. It pulled him farther into the light, out of Cenotaph and the shell he’d slept in these last few months. Their happiness was real, not fake like it used to be most of the time in Penance. He could feel that. He had goosebumps; the hairs stood on his arms. Blinded by the sun, he wept.
He wiped his eyes without thinking how Corrupted that must look. One pass, and another, and his vision returned.
Goddamn, he thought, and laughed at himself.
There were so many. There were obviously less people here than in Penance, but it seemed like so many more. Cenotaph Cathedral sat atop a crooked hill that overlooked Cathedra; to reach it, you’d have to travel the winding path that’d been carved into the hill. The path was packed; filled with faces gone red from the wind and the lack of breathing room. In town, it was hard to differentiate between snow and the white cobblestone the founders used to build the place—the two were either blended together, or winter had retaken all—but the thousands crowded there filled in the gaps between the buildings, giving definition to the white oblivion.
Looking beyond the town, he saw another town in the making. Framework and stone foundations under a pat
chwork of tented material meant to catch the snow and prevent it from ruining construction. They were making room for them, he realized—the conscripted and Narcissus. Cathedra, the proud town that had kept itself preserved for hundreds of years in the image of Penance, was changing, growing.
Farther past the town and its expansion, near the woods and the dead fields—Narcissus. The army had been divided between Cathedra, the Divide, and Penance, but the bulk of it was here, already building a sprawling encampment that put the conscription’s makeshift city on the Divide’s banks to shame. Over two thousand soldiers with actual training stared back at him. They were watching every move he made, and he couldn’t have been happier for it.
It dawned on Felix that, for all that seemed right, something was wrong. He knew what it was. He felt in his gut. Maybe it was even the source of that sick sensation inside it. He turned around, looked towards the south. The air caught in his throat.
For the first time since Its awakening, he couldn’t see the Vermillion God on the horizon. Its shadow was nowhere. Its stirrings were silent. This was the Holy Order’s moment, Felix told himself, and It knew better.
Felix faced the crowd and began. “When I stepped outside just now—” his voice was so loud; was that the White Worm’s boon still at work? “—I wondered where Cathedra had gone. This beautiful town, created in the image of Penance, when, like anything else, covered in snow, becomes invisible. You would not know it was here. But God sees it. The Mother Abbess and myself see it. And we see it because of those of you who have gathered here today, braving sickness and frostbite, forgoing food and drink, and risking life and afterlife under Its watchful eye to show your complete and utter dedication to the Holy Order and the true god of all things.
“A town is nothing without its people. And its people take the town with them wherever they go. Religion in the same. God will still be the true god of all things, but without you, all of you, who define the world around you, leaving Cathedras and Penances in your wake, the world will not know god, not as it should.