Salim sighed, glad to be back on familiar ground once more. "I'm not special. But gods and devils are like people—tell them they can't have something, and suddenly it's all they can think about, regardless of how insignificant it might be."
Bors nodded. "I can see that."
"Hey," Roshad said, "remember how you got the last word with your friend Maedora?"
"Yes?" Salim didn't bother to hide his irritation.
"I think she's looking to change that."
Salim turned.
A hundred feet away and closing fast, Maedora marched toward them. The psychopomp still wore her human guise, in the black military uniform with the billowing gray cloak. If her face had been stern before, it was furious now.
She stopped in front of Salim, arms folded across her chest. "You."
"Me," Salim said.
"Technically, us," Roshad offered.
Both Salim and Maedora glared at the sorcerer, then returned their attention to each other.
"Commander Faralan tells me that you managed to anger the Great Library's Censors as well," Maedora said. "They say you destroyed priceless documents."
"Which were about to be destroyed anyway," Salim said. "I see you were able to follow me as far as Faralan, then."
"You leave a wide trail. Too wide. Bruising egos among the clergy is one thing, but you're costing the Boneyard valuable goodwill with Heaven."
"Investigating heresy was always going to ruffle some angelic feathers," Salim said. "If you think you can do better, you're welcome to try."
Maedora smiled, a predator's grin. "As it happens, I've already spoken with my superiors, and with Ceyanan. As of this moment, all branches of this investigation are officially under my command."
Salim was surprised at how much the words stung. Ceyanan had given him up? Salim and his psychopomp handler had a long history of mutual disdain, but Ceyanan knew better than anyone that Salim got results.
At least there was some satisfaction still to be had. He forced himself to match Maedora's smile. "You're welcome to it. Would you like me to tell you who's responsible?"
The psychopomp's smile dropped. "You know?" Her expression hardened again. "Tell me everything."
Salim did, laying out what facts he had, the things he'd learned from the Great Library, and the conclusions he'd drawn with Hezechor. Maedora took it all in with a tight frown. When he was finished, she nodded.
"Thin," she said. "But enough to interrogate them and get the truth." She turned and began walking back toward Heaven's gates.
"Hey!" Hating himself for showing weakness, Salim jogged to reach her side. "You can't just leave me behind!"
"Empirically false."
Salim ground his teeth and moved in front of her, hands up and blocking her way. "Fine, okay. You're in charge. Just let us see this through with you, alright? We can watch your back. You owe me that much."
Maedora studied him. Salim did his best to look subservient—something he doubted he did well. After a long moment, she nodded again. "Very well. If you disobey my orders, I'll break you and your companions myself."
Without waiting for a response, she began walking again, Salim and his companions falling in behind her.
An angel Salim didn't recognize met them at the gates—a lean, human-sized being with purple wings and a flaming greatsword. It watched them with dark, impassive eyes as they identified themselves.
"The angels Nemeniah and Malchion," Maedora said crisply. "Where are they?"
The angel looked to another guard, this one almost identical save for the sky-blue shade of its plumage. "Have you seen Nemeniah and Malchion?" Its voice was soft and melodious, at odds with its severe features.
"I think they said they were going to the Forum of Tears," the second angel said. He—for Salim couldn't help but think of such a sharp-featured creature as anything but male—turned back to the investigators. "I can take you there."
"The Boneyard thanks you." Maedora gestured for the angel to lead on.
"Wait a second," Salim said. "Shouldn't we inform the local authorities? Get a squad of archons to go with us as backup?"
Maedora gave him a prim smile. "I believe I'm quite capable of handling two rogue angels."
Salim knew that feeling. He'd likely worn a similar smirk himself, plenty of times. In truth, the final confrontation was the part of this job that he loved the most—had loved the most even when he was hunting priests in Rahadoum. But he'd learned the hard way how easily that sort of confidence could get you killed. His mind went back to a job in Thuvia, not so long ago, where the same arrogance in dealing with a corrupt priest had landed him in a magic-proof cell. If it hadn't been for his companion, a woman named Neila, he might have rotted there indefinitely.
"Please," he said. "Just let me send a message."
Maedora sighed. "Quickly."
Salim turned back to the first gate guard they'd spoken to. "Take a message to Commander Faralan," he began—then stopped. Could he trust anyone that his guides had led him to? "Scratch that—take the message to Head Censor Garinas, at the Great Library. Tell him that the culprits are Nemeniah and Malchion, and that we're going to confront them at the Forum of Tears." He thought about adding Arathuziel to the list of people to inform, but the redeemed devil's involvement at this phase might just complicate matters. "Tell him to bring some friends. Big ones."
The angel saluted, fist over heart, and took to the sky, great wings blowing back the long grass.
Maedora and the others followed the second angel, who remained on foot as a courtesy. Behind them, the walls of the Prime Vallation slowly fell away.
"What's the Forum of Tears?" Salim asked, as they trudged up the idyllic slope of a low ridge. Ahead, a waist-high aqueduct of emerald glass marked the barrier between the lowest of Heaven's legendary seven realms. Inside, a rushing stream carried fish the likes of which Salim had never seen before, some of them changing color at will, others breaking the surfaces long enough to sing pure, ascending notes that warmed the skin.
"It's in the Plaza of Martyrs," the angel responded. "One of our many monuments to the great heroes who've given their lives for the cause."
"Aren't there rather a lot of martyrs in Heaven?" Roshad asked.
The angel nodded. "That's why we usually honor them as a group, rather than individuals. Most angels don't remember their mortal lives, so in a way, the monuments are dedicated to all of us." He looked down at Roshad and smiled. "They could be dedicated to you someday, too."
"We'll pass," Roshad said. "But thanks...I think."
The plaza was impossible to mistake: an arrangement of stone squares shot through and separated with neat lines of grass, like a complex game board. Rising up at the squares' intersections were plinths bearing marble statues. Each depicted a different larger-than-life humanoid in the act of being martyred—pierced by arrows, mauled by lions, and so on. Regardless of their individual situations, all of the figures held their heads in the same posture, eyes toward the sky. The heads were smooth, abstract, devoid of hair or facial features which might distinguish them.
"Charming," Roshad said.
"Yes," the angel said, sincerely. "The forum is just over here."
They crossed through the garden of torments and over to a partial ring of columns not unlike those guarding the steps to the Fallen Fastness, though these pillars and their arched tops were of perfect, toothy white. Salim wondered if the similarity of Hell's architecture—the columns, the statues—was meant to be mocking, or if it simply represented how creatures from these planes of law and order thought. Beyond the columns, the ground fell away into an amphitheater, wide paved terraces where angels and archons could stand and watch whoever spoke on the floor below.
No one was currently using the forum to pontificate, but there were still perhaps two dozen angels laughing and chatting in small clusters. Salim spotted Nemeniah and Malchion on the forum's floor. He pointed for Maedora's benefit. "That's them."
"Excelle
nt." Maedora bared her teeth and moved past their guide, leading them all down the steps to the forum floor. Several conversations stopped as angels turned toward the newcomers, watching with naked curiosity.
That was good. Maedora might be certain she could take the two angels handily, but Salim was less confident. It would be better to have an audience, at least until the Censors arrived. If the rogue angels incriminated themselves by fighting back, the other angels would have no choice but to join in and help the Pharasmins take them down. Heaven's honor would allow nothing less.
The group reached the bottom of the stairs. Nemeniah and Malchion turned toward them, expressions stern.
"Hello, Salim." Nemeniah's voice dripped maternal disappointment. "I hope what you learned in the Great Library was worth the disruption you caused. The librarians are far from pleased." She turned to Maedora. "Who's your friend?"
"My name's Maedora," the psychopomp announced loudly. "And I'm the one who'll be bringing you to justice."
From above them came murmurs as more angels on higher tiers turned to see what was going on. Maedora's wolfish smile broadened.
"Nemeniah and Malchion, you stand accused of corruption and crimes against both Heaven and the natural order. I ask you now, before an audience of your peers: did you knowingly give mortals plans for a dangerously heretical artifact?"
Maedora's voice grew to fill the amphitheater. Salim could feel the magic inherent in the question.
Nemeniah said nothing, but her body shook as every fiber of it screamed with a need to answer truthfully. Still, she managed to keep her jaw clenched tight.
"Stop this at once!" Malchion stepped forward menacingly.
Maedora lost her smile. She pointed two fingers at Malchion. "Halt."
The male angel faltered as Maedora's spell blocked his progress, but the psychopomp was already turning her glare back on Nemeniah. Salim sensed the magical pressure increase. "Answer!"
"Yes."
The word was quiet, yet it seemed to ring against the stones, filling the forum. Nemeniah's gasp of relief followed on its heels as the pain and compulsion wracking her body suddenly dissipated. She hunched over, clutching her arms, and glared at Maedora. "You have no idea what you're doing," she hissed.
"Condemned by your own admission." Maedora's smile returned. "By your own laws and those of the Boneyard, I—"
Salim felt the heat a second before he saw it, the flaming blade sweeping around to hover horizontally in front of his throat. He froze.
"That's enough." A powerful hand came down on Salim's shoulder, and he looked back to see the dark-eyed angel who'd guided them here. Beneath Salim's chin, the angel's sword hissed and popped, its flames so bright that he had to blink back tears.
Maedora whirled. "You, too?"
Salim's captor turned him slowly, so that he could see the rest of the forum. Above, every angel stood watching, faces hard.
"No," Maedora breathed, half to herself. "Not possible."
Salim felt a suddenly, sinking certainty. "The souls," he said. "The ones that were taken. You're them."
"Not all of them." Nemeniah stood tall again, her saint's smile back in place. "Some of them we simply convinced." She gestured, and three of the nearest angels—two with burning swords and one with a hammer like hers—moved forward to surround Maedora. The psychopomp raised her hands, and they stopped just out of reach, but the way she twisted to try and keep them all in view reminded Salim of a cornered animal.
"You mean corrupted." He turned back to Nemeniah. "You corrupted them the same way the manuscript corrupted you, when you found it in the library."
He glanced back and saw Roshad and Bors watching him, waiting for the signal to move. An angel stood behind them, not even bothering to restrain them. Salim shook his head slightly, saw Roshad nod almost imperceptibly in return.
That was a relief, at least. Anything the two men tried would only get them all killed. The best thing he could do was try to keep the angels talking until the Censors arrived with reinforcements.
"Corruption presumes that one started out correct and fell away," Nemeniah answered.
"You don't have to do this," Salim pressed. "The things you've set in motion—they're not your fault. It's just the book's magic possessing you, making you do things no angel would do. We can go to the authorities and get you healed. You won't be punished." Salim had no idea whether that was true or not, but it sounded good.
Malchion laughed. "Possessed?" Free from Maedora's spell now, he stalked over to Salim and bent down, looking into his eyes. "Do I look possessed to you?"
Salim wasn't sure how to answer that. Malchion shook his head. "We aren't possessed, Salim. The manuscript didn't corrupt us—it convinced us. We saw its potential, and how it could be used to further Heaven's goals."
"But it's heresy." Salim stood tall and pressed back against his captor, trying to put a little more distance between his throat and the flaming sword. "It was in the Vault of Corrections. It goes against every law of Heaven."
Malchion straightened. "And do you follow all the laws of your world, Salim? Even the ones that contradict each other?"
"This is different," Maedora snapped. "Heaven's laws are set by the gods."
"And yet here we are." Malchion spread his arms. "Have we been struck down for heresy?" He looked up at the rest of the congregation. "Have the gods of justice and light turned their faces from us?"
"Laws change, Salim." Nemeniah moved forward now, bending low as well in order to address him on his level. She looked eager, her inhumanly perfect face lit with hope. "The gods understand that. Times change, and the rules need to change with them. Progress and innovation always require things that the conventional order consider wrong or distasteful." She smiled as if confessing a secret. "Humans aren't the only ones who grow complacent and fear change. That's the real corruption in Heaven—getting locked into outdated policies and ways of doing things, and losing sight of the original goals."
"If we thought we could trust you, we'd ask you to use your magic to test our spirits," Malchion said. "You'd see for yourself that none of us here are evil, or lying. Regardless of what you may think, our motives are pure—perhaps purer than anyone else's."
"Of course," Salim said dryly. "Letting murderers and rapists into Heaven is such a righteous move."
Malchion sneered. "You understand nothing. We saved these souls. Took evil men and women and made them virtuous."
"With the emphasis on made," Salim pressed. "You forced them with magic. Without any free will, or redemption. You brainwashed them."
"And does that make them any less effective? If they'd gone to bolster Hell's armies instead, how exactly would that help Heaven's cause? Heaven is at war, Salim—a holy war to spread love and justice across the multiverse; to weed out the endless stream of corruption brought into the world by creatures like devils and demons. Or by mortal weakness." He gave Salim a pointed look. "Yet the current leaders of Heaven would have us sit quietly by and wait for mortals to do our recruiting—imperfect vessels trying to convince other imperfect vessels to choose the path of light."
"So you make the choice for them."
Nemeniah broke in, gesturing at the surrounding angels. "It's bigger than that, Salim. This is just a start—a test to make sure the machine really works. Once we've proven our model, Heaven's hierarchy will have no choice but to acknowledge its effectiveness. Policies will change. Imagine how wonderful your home world will be when all the evil souls are siphoned off, converted into warriors for truth and justice. And that's just the first phase."
"Then what?" Maedora demanded.
Nemeniah straightened and smiled sweetly at her. "Then we choke out Hell."
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Salim began to laugh.
"You're going to start a full-scale invasion of Hell? Do you have any idea the horror and suffering that would cause?" He shook his head, careful of the burning blade at his throat. "You'll tear the planes in half. Even at
twice their size, Heaven's armies will beat themselves to death against Hell's defenses. They've been preparing for an assault since the literal beginning of time."
Nemeniah shook her head. "We know better than that. Which is why we're not going to Hell. We're going to the Boneyard."
"What?!" Maedora shrieked.
Salim grasped it immediately. "Pharasma's court. You're going to try to cut them off at the source."
Nemeniah beamed. "Now you understand. We don't need enough warriors to assault Hell—just enough to hold the portal through which damned souls flow after judgment. Between our machines redeeming mortals and our people keeping judged souls from reaching Hell, we can halt the plane's growth. Without a fresh supply of devils, Hell will wither. Even if we ultimately fail, every moment we hold out starves Hell and makes Heaven stronger by comparison."
"You're insane," Maedora said. "You're not just going to fight Hell—you'll be fighting Pharasma's servants, and every other plane. You'll be crushed instantly."
"Not if the other celestial planes see our plans and join us!" Nemeniah was growing heated now. "The gods of light and justice are on our side—if they weren't, wouldn't they have already stopped us? They're omniscient and omnipotent—clearly, they want this to happen. Heaven has grown lazy and complacent, and we're going to turn things around. Make us all the holy warriors we were born to be, not merely celestial bureaucrats."
A murmur of assent swept through the surrounding angels.
Malchion drew his warhammer and raised it over his head, turning to address the surrounding angels. "Look at us! Were we created to sit back and let mortals do our work for us? Was I given this"—he shook his hammer—"to argue with beings less capable of grasping the gods' wisdom? Or were we designed to fight for what we know is right? To build by force the perfect order the gods demand?"
The gathered angels roared their approval.
Malchion lowered his hammer and his voice. "The gods watch what we do here. It's up to us to prove that we're worthy of their love. That we can take initiative, not constantly wait for instruction."
Pathfinder Tales: The Redemption Engine Page 28