The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith) (15 page)

While it wasn’t strong, the scent of fear cloaked the colonel. Blaise smoothed his grin to a thin-lipped scowl and adjusted the buttons on his cuffs of his coat. The silver roses he’d pilfered for Leopold’s shirt had been replaced with ones crafted of red gold. He rested the tip of his finger on one of them. A faint whisper teased his ears, but he couldn’t tell who had crafted them with Speech.

“The Heart of God isn’t like the Hand, you know,” Blaise said, reaching out to take hold of the staff. “Nothing will happen to you if you touch it. Your soul is safe. If, of course, you believe in that sort of thing. I assure you that you should, though. Some people say they can hear it sing.”

“Sing?”

Uncertain of how to explain Aurora’s wordless song, which was nothing more than an echo tied to the fragmented pieces of her soul, Blaise settled with offering Cassius the staff. His bone whined its reluctance.

With the jerky motion of the entranced, the Colonel reached out for the Heart of God and brushed the tips of his fingers against the red stone. It wasn’t her usual song, but a true melody, one unheard for hundreds—if not thousands—of years. In it was the roughness of a mortal life forever touched by the whispering wind of His Garden.

Blaise swallowed. The grief that time couldn’t touch tightened his chest.

Tears gleamed in Cassius’s eyes, but they didn’t fall. Blaise waited for the soldier to make the first move.

The Colonel’s hand fell, and the man rubbed the tips of his fingers together. “What was that?”

Blaise pressed a finger to his lips and tapped the staff against the stone. “That is a secret.”

A puzzled expression flashed over Cassius’s face before shifting to a frown. In turn, the frown faded to small smile. “I see.”

“They’re expecting me,” Blaise said, crossing to the door in two long strides.

“I told you, I’m coming too.”

“Don’t force yourself, Cassius,” he replied, meeting the man’s eyes.

Cassius stood firm and didn’t look away from his gaze, the man’s chin set. Blaise halted, hand halfway to the knob.

“They’re the exact opposites, aren’t they?” Cassius whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“The Hand and the Heart.”

Blaise closed his fingers around the bronze handle and thought about the mortal’s question. Most asked how the Heart could counter the Hand, not about their natures. He wondered how the world would change if more people thought as Cassius did, looking beyond their greed and desire for power in search of more important things.

“You ask a wise question,” Blaise replied in a soft voice.

“So you don’t know, Blaise?” There was a tremor in the human’s voice, and Blaise relaxed his grip and turned to face the Colonel.

“I didn’t say that. You’ve seen someone die to the Hand before, haven’t you?”

A nod answered him.

“I said I wouldn’t preach, so I’ll spare you the long explanations and tell you this: When a soul can no longer rise to His Gardens, it’s devoured. Without a soul, the body is nothing.”

Cassius paled and remained silent.

Blaise shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the door. “Well, that’s what some say. God welcomes every soul, no matter how tattered, to His Garden. That’s what most say.”

“And what do you say, Bishop Blaise?”

“Me? I’m but a humble child of God,” he replied, but he couldn’t resist the urge to grin. At least the man couldn’t see his face. “I know better than to try to give God orders. But I’ll say this much, friend: If you value your soul, pray that the Hand is returned to where it belongs.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“That’s another reason to start praying. Then again, it might not matter, if you believe what some say rather than what most say.”

~*~

Hundreds stood within the sanctuary of the cathedral. The silence was so deep Blaise held his breath so he wouldn’t be the first to make a noise. To his left, Cassius turned red, lips clamped in the effort to remain silent. The darker gray of the man’s coat stood out among the white coats of the bishops standing with them.

Blaise didn’t pray; he left that to the mortals who believed their thoughts made a difference in the progression of Volas’s soul to the Gardens so long after the man’s death. Standing beside the steward’s body, the Archbishop waited with his head bowed low and his hands held clasped before him.

Someone in the crowd let out a wheeze and a cough. Everyone else gasped for air. Cassius panted and muttered a curse. Blaise bit his lip so he wouldn’t grin and let his breath out in a long sigh.

“Children of God, we gather this night not to mourn, but to celebrate. Our fragile, mortal bodies were not meant to walk under the light of God’s sun forever. Our spirits yearn for God’s Garden, and our beloved steward has gone into His embrace, leaving behind his remains to take his place at God’s side, among the faithful who have passed through the Gates before him.”

Alphege paused to stare out over the gathered crowd. The sanctuary was as still and quiet as the grave they’d soon entomb Volas within. Blaise nestled the Heart of God in the crook of his arm, and clasped his hands to maintain the illusion tranquility and attention.

No one wept when they should have. No one mourned. No one cared. While a few did watch the Archbishop, most focused on Blaise and the staff he held.

“Disgusting,” Cassius muttered. The man’s voice trembled with emotion the soldier couldn’t conceal from him. Blaise sniffed, and almost smiled at the scent of rage similar to hot metal and coal.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise glanced at the colonel. A passive and almost pleasant expression hid Cassius’s true mood in a veneer Blaise hoped would crack. The thought of a soldier calling out the so-called faithful amused him enough to keep him still and quiet.

It wasn’t his hunt. Not yet.

“Volas came to the cathedral as a child, taking joy in serving God in any way he could. He lived his days as someone to look up to, to aspire to. We will miss him, and we take comfort in knowing his place in God’s Garden was secured through his countless good deeds and his gentle, loving spirit,” the Archbishop said.

Blaise tightened his grip on the Heart of God and listened to the blend of his bone cooing at him and Aurora’s song. The sound tempered his desire to snap out at the false mourners in the sanctuary. While a few of the men, women, and children sat on the benches lined up in neat rows, most stood.

Whether unaware or uncaring everyone focused on Blaise and the relic he held, Alphege continued to speak. While Blaise heard the words the Archbishop said, he couldn’t concentrate on them. Did those in the sanctuary stare at the white linens covering the gash across his brow, or did they stare at the Heart?

Blaise suspected they stared at Aurora’s glimmering gemstone, its red glow staining his coat a shade similar to the embroidering embellishing Alphege’s robes.

Too many eyes focused on him, and he couldn’t distinguish between friend or foe at a glance. His skin tingled with the sensation of being watched and scrutinized, hunted and judged by mortals who weren’t aware of who—and what—they beheld.

The few unfortunate enough to meet Blaise’s gaze looked away.

Silence fell over the gathering, and the Archbishop stood with his head bowed in prayer. Blaise mimicked the human’s pose, staring at the gathered crowd through his lashes.

The sanctuary doors creaked open, the brighter light of the foyer and hall washing over the gathered people. Everyone turned to catch a glimpse of the one interrupting the mass.

Without lifting his head, Blaise caught a glimpse of gray and red moving forward. Those near the door recoiled from the figure stepping forward.

“He’s here,” Cassius whispered.

Blaise kept his head bowed as if in prayer. “Who is?” he whispered back.

“General Horthoe,” Cassius replied, pausing to draw a long breath. “Where he strides, the Emperor is certain to follow.”

The first twinge of a headache formed behind Blaise’s eyes.

“Make way for the Emperor!” a voice thundered from the door. Blaise recognized the echo born of words enhanced by Speech. The command slammed through his head and pain lanced from his forehead to the back of his skull and down his spine. Before he could snarl out the counter, Aurora’s gem flashed a brilliant red.

While the men and women trampled over each other in their haste to obey the Speech-wrought command, Blaise stood firm, the compulsion flowing around him without taking hold. At his side, Cassius shuddered but stood his ground.

Alphege smiled down at the men striding forward. “Be welcomed among us, sons of God.”

Blaise gripped the Heart of God so hard his hand hurt. Muscle by muscle, he loosened his grip on it.

“This’ll be bad,” Cassius hissed at him.

“You don’t say,” Blaise muttered, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his companion. While pale, the man stood his ground, back stiff and eyes staring out over the crowd in the rigid manner of a military man. None of the fear Blaise smelled reflected in the man’s expression.

The false mourners cowered away from the two men marching down the center aisle of the sanctuary. Like at the Arena, the Emperor wore purple, but instead of the shorter coat, the one he wore was so long it dragged on the ground behind him. Chains of gold glittered at the man’s throat, as well as in the embroidery decorating the cuffs and hem of his garb. The general followed a step behind and to the Emperor’s right. Unlike the Emperor, General Horthoe wore a standard military coat marked with red tassels.

The two men stopped at the base of the dais. “All hail the Emperor!” General Horthoe announced, standing straighter. The man pivoted to face the Emperor before snapping a salute.

Once again, Aurora’s gem flashed red. The Speech crashed against Blaise, as ineffective as the surf against the cliffs skirting the shore. The red glow enveloped him and spread enough to cover Cassius as well.

The cheers of the obedient shook the cathedral. Cassius remained silent, but matched the general salute.

“God’s blessing upon you, Your Imperial Majesty,” the Archbishop said.

“Prove you’ve done your duty,” the Emperor demanded.

Blaise narrowed his eyes and watched Alphege. The man gestured. Left with no choice but to obey, Blaise straightened, tapping the Heart of God against the stone. Its click echoed in the silence.

“This is the Heart of God, and as you can see, it is quite safe. Our duty, as always, has been done. Bishop, give our Emperor the Heart of God, so he might take it and guard it in this time of need,” the Archbishop announced.

The cold of shock stabbed at Blaise’s bones and shattered his every thought, scattering them like dust caught in the wind. Alphege met his eyes, and with a shake of his graying head, the man looked away.

Blaise swallowed and glanced at Volas’s face, but saw no joy in the old man’s expression. Matching the steward’s smile, Blaise stepped forward and held out the Heart of God.

His bone didn’t cry out, but raged in his head, echoing the ire kindling in his chest. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he murmured, amazed his voice remained calm despite the turbulence of his emotions.

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed and the man reached out to snatch the staff from him. The purple-gloved hand brushed against the shaft fashioned from Blaise’s bone.

At the center of the Heart, Aurora’s light flickered and darkened. A crack appeared where bone and gem met, and lines of black raced from the center to both ends of the staff.

With the thunderous boom of striking lightning, the Heart of God shattered, leaving behind nothing more than a shower of dust and fragments.

~*~

Aurora’s presence clung to Blaise. His skin tingled and a chill seeped through him to center in his chest, slowing the beat of his heart. Cold radiated from the spot, stabbing through him with his every breath.

He didn’t remember falling, but he lay on the stone of the sanctuary’s dais, arms and legs twitching as though he’d been struck by lightning. Over the centuries, he’d become all too familiar with the sensation. He couldn’t control the way his body jerked and convulsed. It didn’t hurt, but he knew the pain would come later.

A buzz filled Blaise’s ears. Screams filtered through the noise in his head and ears. The warmth of a hand brushed against his throat.

“He’s alive,” the voice of the Emperor’s general announced. “Your Imperial Majesty?”

“What is this meaning of this, Archbishop?” the Emperor demanded.

“I believe it’s obvious someone used Speech to devastating effect,” Alphege replied. “You’re certain he’s alive? Let me look at him.”

“Don’t be hasty, Archbishop,” the Emperor snapped. “Whomever did this is obviously a skilled Speaker, and we’ve no idea if they’ll strike again, or if they’ve done something to your man.”

“He’s breathing and I can feel his heartbeat,” General Horthoe stated. “He’s not dead, though I’ve no idea what has happened to him or if he’ll awaken. It seems safe enough, Your Imperial Majesty. Could it be that this man is the one responsible?”

“If I may, Your Imperial Majesty?” Cassius asked.

“Speak.”

“Bishop Blaise couldn’t have used Speech, General, sir. Your Imperial Majesty, someone must have tried to target you, but instead of hitting you, it struck the bishop and the staff instead.”

Blaise kept his eyes closed and concentrated on the voices around him. Ceasing his breathing wouldn’t kill him and would ease the pain radiating from his chest, but he’d have too many questions to answer afterward. Ignoring the temptation, he forced his breath to be slow and shallow, mimicking the weak pattern of the injured or dying.

“Don’t let anyone leave,” the Emperor said.

The hand touching Blaise’s throat stiffened.

“I’ll handle this,” Alphege said. The Archbishop’s Speech was so malicious and angry it tainted His Words. Blaise fought the urge to Speak to counter the Archbishop’s use of God’s Words, but he managed to keep still and silent. The chill of Aurora’s presence dropped to his stomach.

There wasn’t enough left of Aurora’s soul for words or thought, but Blaise was aware of her need to protect, which spread from where she took up residence in his. The influence of the Archbishop’s Speech shattered without him being aware of what the human intended. The memory of her warmth when she’d lived, before she’d been devoured, roused to haunt him.