by James Stone
‘Look at your temple,’ she called like an apostle. ‘The Divinicus have brought their fire on us. This is the doing of those false angels—they will bring death to the First!’
It was clear several the Belliousans couldn’t hear her, and the rest didn’t understand, but those who did appeared to spread the word, eyes blazing beneath those crimson gowns. The heat was becoming almost unbearable, but it only got worse as the natives set light to their torches and began the cycle anew.
Magmaya stepped away, feeling sweat rush down her back, and disappeared into another corridor, finding herself in a five-sided room with antique floors and ceilings stolen from oil paintings. While a number of Belliousans fled through, she heard a light rumbling beneath her feet; it was heavy vibration which grew and grew until it engulfed her spine and became as real as the fires around her.
And then, there were Divinicus at war, glowing orange in the fire—a blur of shimmering pearl.
Even with his helm firmly nestled in his gorget, Magmaya could’ve recognised Akanah from a mile away; after all, mesmerising patterns carved from ivory spread like veins across his armour—he wasn’t a man, but something heavenly. His plate wasn’t for protection, it was a display, his blade wasn’t a weapon, it was a loving kiss, and his word wasn’t a mumble, it was gospel.
The Belliousans toppled and trembled in his wake, and as the angels drew their falchions, many of the preachers and servitors threw themselves to the floor in reverence of their newfound gods.
None of them appeared to have noticed Magmaya, though. She turned and skipped to the corner of the room amid the frantic prayers and screams, and she watched as the silent idols thundered onward.
And like how the heathens would follow the demons at the end of days, the Small Court trailed in, slow and disorderly, as if bound to one another by an invisible chain.
They weren’t afraid—that much was clear, but then again, they must have seen this chaos a thousand times before. Who knew how many temples Akanah had burnt in his wake, how many preachers he had struck down while they prayed. What was clearer was that Anclyn had never seen anything quite like it, though; she had told Magmaya of the rainstorms in the Summerlands and the abuse from her slavers, but she had never faced anything like this; her eyes were alive with fear and flame, and her greasepaint was weeping with her too.
By the time she turned back to the room, there was a violent gout of fire as the tapestries above turned to ash and rained to the ground like falling stars. While the Divinicus glowed in its embrace, the red cloaks of the Belliousans burst into flames. Screams encased the room, but as the smoke began to rise from the burning men, Magmaya felt herself leap up.
The Divinicus stood quietly and watched the fiery Belliousans fall to their knees. They’d become spectres of light, clawing at the air and calling in a tongue none of them had cared to learn. The angels looked on in intrigue (or perhaps amusement), but their callousness was enough to mask Magmaya’s movements across the halls. She fled from corner to corner until she found Anclyn and pulled her aside.
The girl of summer was worn and tired, and her greasepaint wasn’t hiding that any longer. It swam down her cheeks in the glow of the flames while black ink ran from her eyes like the oily tears of a harlequin. But between the light of the burning Belliousans (whose screams were finally fading) and Magmaya’s own bloodied visage, there may have well been just one girl with a silvery pond before her.
‘Mag—!’ Anclyn began, but she clasped her palm across her lips and tugged her away, the Small Court seemingly fixated on the burning corpses. At last, while the others were a corridor away, she unhanded her, and let the fire fill the silence between them.
It took them a while to catch their breath, but Magmaya couldn’t remember feeling so tired a minute before. Her feet had turned to lead and her knees splintered wood. But between the roar of the flames and the heat of the moment, there was no time to think—no time for an idle confession.
‘You were in the tower,’ Anclyn exclaimed. ‘Deih was—’
‘We have to run,’ Magmaya said softly, and the handmaiden looked up with a distant nod. When those tearful eyes stared Magmaya back, they were a watery shadow of what they should’ve been. ‘The angels want me dead. And they’ll want you too if we aren’t careful.’
‘What about Deih?’ Anclyn asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘I can kill her if I must—I will kill her if I must.’ Magmaya opened her gown, and the ritual blade hummed in the light of the flame.
‘She’s one of my own,’ Anclyn protested, too loud. ‘She’s one of my blood!’
‘So was my father, and the world is a little better off now,’ Magmaya whispered.
Anclyn stared her down, eyes wide. ‘Someone hurt you.’ She looked to her bleeding navel. ‘Let me help.’
Magmaya shook her head. ‘I know a way out—Anclyn, none of this—’ She motioned to her stomach, ‘none of this matters if we can just get out of here and away from these people.’
‘The Divinicus were going to put you on trial,’ Anclyn said. ‘I didn’t know what to do, what to say. They kept us in these chambers… I!’
Magmaya nodded and looked around the hall—it didn’t matter what the angels thought of her; she might as well have been dead to their cause anyway.
‘These fires?’ the handmaiden asked, looking to her with dismay. There was a sadness about her that Magmaya hadn’t noticed before—a sadness that once she saw it, couldn’t be caged. ‘It… who did this…? Do you—?’ She trailed off, and Magmaya stared her down. Her head was pounding with the crackling of the flames and the dying hymns beyond.
‘None of this matters,’ she groaned, ‘if we can just get out.’ Her eyes grew desperate like the moon at dawn. ‘None of it, Anclyn.’
She nodded slowly, and a moment later, the Divinicus had become a distant dream. The stone corridors were racing by as if they had never existed, but Magmaya could only pray to whatever gods were left on her side that Anclyn’s absence had gone unnoticed.
As the walls of the First Temple unfolded around them, the heat seemed to grow worse. Though the fire was nowhere in sight, its kiss was omnipresent. Magmaya’s robes were only clinging to her with sweat and blood, and Anclyn’s greasepaint had spilt something devilish down her face. The bronze statuettes were hot to the touch, and it looked as if the whole Temple was melting away.
A group of priests ran past with flaming swords but paid them no heed, and Magmaya realised, They’re looking for the angels. It had gone as she had planned with that rousing speech of hers, but it was different to be amongst it all, amongst the fire. She knew the Divinicus would overpower the locals with ease, but she could at least keep the conflict brewing for as long as it took them to escape. They turned a sharp corridor and carried on.
‘Where exactly are you taking me?’ Anclyn asked after a short while.
‘The atrium.’ Magmaya’s voice was trembling. It hurts, she thought, it hurts to admit I’m on the losing side. ‘Through there, if we can escape the Divinicus, we can leave this cursed place.’
‘Can we risk that? If we cross the path with just one…’
When did you stop calling me my lady? Magmaya asked herself, ignoring whatever the handmaiden had to say next. Her petty squeaks couldn’t help them out of here. Only she could. There was no other choice than to escape.
‘I’m not letting Deih or Akanah get to us,’ Magmaya cut in. ‘They’ll string us both up.’
It was partially true, at least. Both of them wanted her dead, that was for sure, but she had to keep Anclyn moving. It was clear she was still conflicted about who to follow—the Divinicus had been all she’d known for so long. Not only that, but she’d deceived her about Deih. Girl of summer or not, the High Priestess was her enemy—she had to understand that! She was the best choice for Anclyn… wasn’t she?
‘What’s happening?’ the handmaiden asked her as she stopped to catch her br
eath. ‘This fire, what happened with Deih; there are too many things I don’t understand.’
‘You have to trust me.’ Magmaya clenched her bloodied fingers. The words felt hollow as she spoke them; she wouldn’t have believed them if she was on the receiving end. ‘None of it matters—’
‘None of it matters if we just escape—I know, I understand!’ Anclyn protested. ‘But at least I have the decency to admit I’m afraid. Let’s throw ourselves from the tower at least so we can die in the light instead of some fiery pit.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Magmaya wheezed, but she could’ve pleaded forever. The desperation was deep in her bones. ‘We have to keep moving. Think faster than the fire.’
Despite her best intentions, the end of the hall met them with a violet inferno. The corridor beyond had forked into three tails, but one was engulfed in flame; dozens of tapestries had been transmogrified to ash.
I don’t recognise it here, damn it! Magmaya wiped the sweat from her brow. It appeared with every step, the Temple’s walls shifted to outsmart her.
But Anclyn was still and smiling, her eyes alight as the inferno grew closer. Magmaya glanced over and watched her: a girl in rapture as she herself had been at pearly ships—so little, a lifetime ago.
‘It’s like…’ Anclyn started, ‘art.’
Magmaya shook her head. ‘It’s death,’ she said. ‘The Divinicus and the Belliousans will kill those who trespass them, but this will kill us all.’
‘They say fire only kills the unworthy…’
‘It doesn’t care who it kills, only that it does.’ She wasn’t sure where she’d summoned the words from, but it was if Kurulian was nagging in her ear. Fire didn’t win this war, she wished she could’ve screamed at him. It’s started one. And soon, they’ll be no air left to breathe.
Anclyn stumbled, but a moment later, Magmaya felt her palm in hers. She beckoned the handmaiden into the corridor ahead, shed her cloak behind her and watched it catch fire in the dark.
At last, Magmaya found herself somewhere she recognised, but it was hardly the same place since it had taken aflame. Divinicus plagued the room, soaring above the Belliousans like birds of prey, slitting throats, searing hearts and beheading with delicate grace. Truly they were unmatched by anything Magmaya had ever witnessed; they were above the brutality of Mansel, the stoicism of Orianne and the cunning of the Tyla—they were angels given form.
‘Magmaya!’ Anclyn screamed, and not a moment later, there was a Belliousan throwing himself at her, flailing knives above his head.
The girl ducked as metal cut the air above. She found the ritual blade at her hip, drew it, and parried his next blow. Limbs became entangled with limbs, dust amid dirt, before Magmaya forced her blade through the Belliousan’s shoulder and then clumsily through his neck.
It was only after he turned limp that she was able to wrestle the blade free from him. She looked back again to Anclyn, expecting some sort of horror, but her face was still, and her frown gave nothing away.
It felt like a dream; the world was slipping through Magmaya’s fingers. Keep a hold of yourself, she insisted. You’re chancellor of Orianne, slayer of Vargul Tul and the girl who did what everyone else was too afraid to do—you travelled south.
The marble of the hall had once been intricately detailed with scripture and verse, but by the time Magmaya was done with the Belliousan, it had been stained with blood. Gone were the Divinicus and ancient majesty, and in their place, there were red corpses, hanging from every iron spike and crooked brazier like grizzly trophies, a string of flesh and crossbow bolts. And against perhaps three dozen Temple Guard, not a single angel had fallen.
‘They might have well had already taken this place,’ Magmaya remarked. She shook her head. ‘The atrium isn’t far from here.’
‘What if it’s already on fire?’
‘Do we have another option?’ She wiped her blade clean against the dead man’s tunic. ‘Perhaps I was wrong about the fire, though. The Divinicus may just be worse.’
‘I know,’ Anclyn grumbled. ‘And if they’re already by the exit, waiting for us?’
‘Please!’ Magmaya shrieked. ‘You have to trust me.’
The corridors that led to the atrium were as complex as Magmaya had remembered. Still, it was more beautiful in the glow of the flame; the fire had illuminated the darkest crevices and sharpest corners, sending black shadows fleeing from the white glow. The heat of it all was unbearable, but at least there was no one else around unfortunate enough to suffer it. Perhaps the Divinicus had already made themselves scarce and left them in this fiery tomb.
Her thoughts were cut short. A maddened scream echoed through the hall, and Anclyn yelled. Another pack of Belliousans appeared an instant later, waving their magic staves and flailing burning tapestries.
Magmaya raised the knife again and struck down the first attacker, nestling the blade beneath the arm. But before she could pry it free, another pair were on her. She ducked as a torch spiralled above her head, and her assailants reformed.
Magmaya threw herself aside and kicked one of the attackers away. While the other Belliousan reached out, she parried his blow and lunged forward, driving the blade through his throat and feeling a warmth fill her mouth.
Much to her surprise, the last Belliousan got on her knees and began to plea in some language she didn’t understand.
‘Mercy, please,’ Anclyn translated. ‘My son is dead, and my left leg is burnt to a stump. Mercy.’
No sooner had the Belliousan’s body hit the ground, Magmaya turned and asked, ‘You know the tongue of Belliousa?’
‘No.’ Anclyn shook her head. ‘She was speaking Arykyr.’
Magmaya raised an eyebrow.
‘From the Summerlands,’ she said.
Anclyn mumbled to herself as they crossed the corridors, but it was all just noise against the crackling of the flame. ‘Whenever there was a tree-fire in the Water, the crones would bring pails of sand from the beaches to put it out,’ she began. ‘The elders wouldn’t let me venture close to the flames, though—it’ll burn your soul out, they would say. I always thought that explained why they were so damn crass.’
Perhaps once Magmaya would have laughed at that, but the thought of anything other than the First Temple overwhelmed her. Perhaps the fire had taken her soul from her. And if it hadn’t, what had she allowed to become of it?
‘Remember when it rained on the ship?’ Anclyn pestered. ‘I would pray for a little of that now.’
Magmaya shied away. She had brought the fire down upon the First Temple but had never meant for it to consume the entire mountaintop! And despite her efforts, it appeared they had been the last to escape; the Belliousans must have already died or followed a secret passageway out, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if the Divinicus were able to walk through the greatest gouts of flame. But even if she had a pail of sand, she would’ve sooner found herself building castles in the sky than throwing it at the fires.
When she opened her eyes again, she found the Temple crumbling around her like ashen wood falling to pieces in her hand. When she was a child, the morning after the great fires were lit, she had made a habit of stealing wood from the fireplaces and teaching herself to draw with its chalky residue until it fell apart between her fingers. Siedous would have scorned her for that, ‘It’s dirty,’ he had said. ‘But it isn’t a live fire,’ she had always spat back.
But this very much was, and Siedous wasn’t around to scold her any longer.
It was then a flaming stone broke loose from above. The ground shook, and the earth became broken with glass and shattered marble. It wasn’t until the dust had cleared, Magmaya realised the debris were blocking the corridor.
‘We should have stayed on the ship,’ Anclyn started, tears welling in her eyes. ‘No—I should’ve stayed in the Summerlands and you in the north.’
‘I would rather die than stop moving.’ Magmaya backed away. ‘We’ll have to t
ake the long way around.’
‘We’re never going to make it, Magmaya.’
Each corridor was a ghost of the last, but in time they found an archway, a memory of a lifetime ago. And at last, there was the atrium.
Despite the flames having dyed the stonework a sickly black, the fountain was very much alive, but it seemed no amount of water would’ve set the inferno right. The harpists who had once intoxicated Magmaya with their music were sprawled around its basin; the spray of the water had bleached their wounds a rosy pink; they’d become even more beautiful than they’d been when she’d arrived. Other corpses flocked the flames too, their mouths agape as if still calling for aid which never came. They weren’t Temple Guard or even armed preachers; they were low-borns or pilgrims who had travelled across Belliousa just to look upon their goddess—a look that had killed them.
A pillar of flaming timber had cut the hall in half, though—the only way into the atrium was through a wall of fire. The ceiling above rumbled and sighed, finally giving up on itself as the angels began to flock the corridors.
With any luck, they’ll seal themselves in, Magmaya mused, but then, the handmaiden spoke.
‘She’s there,’ she whispered, and the whole room seemed to freeze.
She was the High Priestess, Deih of the Water, the Matriarch of Belliousa. It had felt as if they had met a hundred years ago, but in the time since, she had grown more radiant. Her eyes were oceans of ruby, her cloak was a rich scarlet that outshone the moon, and yet, all around her, there was chaos, beauty and fire, and it outshone them all.
But there was a stutter in Deih’s step, and Magmaya squinted, making out a shimmer that she held below her shoulder. She’s been struck by a crossbow, she concluded, but it’ll take more than that to kill a goddess.