He’s up to something. There’s something he’s not telling me.

“Thank you, brother Ruairí,” said the priest. “For you have provided us the gospel Truth, from His lips to yours. And now, for a sermon from the writings of Brother Caolán of Dromán, who’s Seeing of Seletoth in the year 350 AC has given us a glimpse into the heart of the Lord, and the love He shares for us all.”

As the priest continued, Ruairí made his way back through the crowd, where Argyll greeted him with a curt “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I can explain,” said Ruairí, turning Argyll’s chair around and exiting the chamber. They took the same narrow hallway that had brought them there.

“Then explain,” said Argyll. “But you will answer my own questions directly, and you will speak plainly. First, is it true that you had a Seeing last night?”

“Yes,” said Ruairí. “I would not lie to my people.”

“But do you do realise that you could? That all you would need only to preface any claim with ‘Seletoth told me,’ for them to believe you?”

“Even if that is true, it is certainly not the case.”

“And do you realise that…” Argyll trailed off as they passed the staircase which had brought them down to this place. “Where are you taking me?”

“I have one more thing to show you,” said Ruairí. “Something that will make you understand.”

“No!” roared Argyll. “You will stop what you are doing and explain yourself.”

Ruairí halted, as both faced a wooden door at the end of the corridor. “What I wanted to show you is just beyond this,” he said. “If you could just allow me to explain.”

“You have condemned them all to death. Don’t you see? You have taken their faith and you have turned it against them. You’ve ensured they’ll perish in this dead land because you, not Seletoth, told them to.”

“No,” said Ruairí, stepping around Argyll to face him. “I have saved them.” He pushed open the door. “I have saved them from you.”

The door opened to reveal a small room. A cloakroom, fitted with poles across the ceilings, where rows of cloaks hung like shadowy figures.

As Argyll’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, he saw that these were not just cloaks, but robes. Bright, scarlet robes he had seen many times on the streets of Penance.

“The red robes of the Churchguard,” he whispered. “Who….” He looked to Ruairí. “Those in the congregation. There’s Human Churchguards among them?”

“No,” said Ruairí, smiling. “All of them are Churchguards.”

The rage within Argyll faded somewhat, and he nodded with reluctant admiration.

“You see,” said Ruairí, upon seeing this. “Your plan pitched Simian Churchguards and Sons of Seletoth against the Humans of the Churchguard. But I’ve already merged the latter two groups into one. Now, there’ll be no need for violence when we take to the Basilica tomorrow.”

“True,” said Argyll. “But there must be more.” He leered at Ruairí now, looking for any sign of weakness. “Was this all this just to save the lives of those you were willing to kill before?”

“Not quite,” said Ruairí. “There is something more that I require from the Basilica. A book.”

Argyll raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

“It’s called The Truth, written by King Móráin the First himself. It’s a first-hand account of the journey the Firstborn took across the ancient lands to the east, to find Alabach, led by the wisdom of Seletoth.”

“And why is this of so much interest to you?”

“Our scriptures are riddled with holes, with each Son getting only a glimpse of the Truth through their Seeings. Our sect works hard to piece together this disassociated knowledge, but each fragment is so small. Sons who witness too much of the Truth are usually in no state afterwards to retell what they saw.”

“They lose their minds,” said Argyll, recalling Fionn’s account of his encounter with Firemaster Conleth.

“Most Seeings come upon those who are not ready for such a revelation. But if the Truth was in our hands, we could study it, decipher it, and know the face of God.”

Argyll considered this for a moment. They were planning on plundering the Church’s stash of focus-crystals already, perhaps they could take this book at the same time. “This will be well protected, I assume,” he asked.

“Yes, hidden in the deepest of the Church’s vaults. But with the full contingent of the Churchguard on our side, plundering them will be easy.”

Argyll raised an eyebrow. “I know of these vaults. Aren’t they only accessible by the Arch-Canon himself?”

Ruairí hesitated, frowning slightly, as if caught in a lie. “That… is accurate. Our information from the inside says that there is a door in the third-floor basement, accessible only to those wearing the Arch-Canon’s sigil ring.”

“Which he won’t hand over easily, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“So, you wish to kill him?”

“Yes.”

Argyll sighed. This option does spare many more lives than one. Though something else bothered him.

“Why must you all stay?” said Argyll. “It sounds like we have everything in place to take the focus-crystals and this book from the Basilica with minimal bloodshed. Why doom your followers to stay in this dying land when all is said and done?”

“Because the Lord has willed it.”

“And if He’s wrong?”

“The Lord’s word is not to be questioned.”

“Even in the hypothetical?”

Ruairí paused. “If there is a possibility that the Lord is wrong, then He is no god worth worshipping.”

Argyll gave up, silently gesturing Ruairí to bring him home.

Sounds to me like there is no god worth worshipping. They stopped abruptly as they approached the dark staircase. With a grunt of effort, Ruairí pulled the chair backwards, raising the front wheels into the air, and Argyll braced himself for an uncomfortable ascent.

Though if Seletoth could give me my legs back, I’d be the most devout Son there ever was.

Chapter 16:

The Silverback’s Reach

With the help of our native guides, we made significant progress northwards over the following months, fighting our way through traps and ambushes lain by those who opposed our landing. We razed numerous settlements to the ground, a decision that was not easy to make. Still, all dissent must be routed out, and with fewer places to call home, these Simians, as they name themselves, will have no choice but to capitulate.

As we forged northwards, the call of Seletoth grew stronger. We were getting close to Him, this much I was sure of.