As if sensing this weakness, Cathbad pressed further. “But she has already destroyed Dromán with her horde, correct? She marched her army through the Academy grounds and took a thousand battlemages into her ranks. I don’t believe she’d leave any behind, so why go back?”
Farris narrowed his eyes.
He knows, he realised. He just wants me to admit it. He considered Cathbad for another moment. The man’s expression was unreadable, like grey stone. Let’s see what reaction this gets.
“We have found the tomb of the Lady Meadhbh,” Farris began. He kept his voice low and calm. “It is located near Dromán. Santos and King Diarmuid uncovered it a year ago when they were building the underground railway. Shortly after the horde was defeated here, we parlayed with the Lady Meadhbh Herself.”
Farris paused. Although Cathbad’s expression remained unchanged, his eyes no longer seemed so dark. Instead, they stared back at Farris with something between wonder and fear.
Oh dear. Perhaps he didn’t know after all.
“She told us of the lies of the Church,” Farris continued. “That Seletoth did not create the heavens and the earth, or the flora and fauna that inhabit them. All He created was the Human race, and only they are bound to the Tapestry of Fate.”
“This is known,” whispered Cathbad. “Though not by many. What else did She say?”
“Meadhbh alluded to something She called ‘the Truth.’ Some secret that the Church was established to protect. Some piece of knowledge that drove many mad once they witnessed it. She believes that Morrígan has caught a glimpse of this Truth and will do whatever it takes to learn more. When she does, destroying Seletoth and ending all life will be the only reasonable response.”
Farris’s words seemed to weaken Cathbad. The old man placed a trembling hand against his wrinkled neck, grimacing as he rubbed his skin.
“This is what I feared the most,” he muttered, looking away. “The power to see what truths the gods show to us is indeed a gift, but often comes with the curse of being unable to unsee them…” He slowly met Farris’s eyes. “Tell me, what was it like to be face to face with a god?”
Farris considered the question. The Arch-Canon’s demeanour now seemed closer to what one would expect of a man of his age, without the robe and the stole.
“It was… horrible. All my life, I did not believe in power greater than my own. I did not believe something so terrible, yet so beautiful, could exist.”
“Your reaction is understandable,” said Cathbad. “Not many have experienced what you have, and even fewer are capable of carrying on afterwards. They say that those who tend to Seletoth Himself on the peak of Mount Selyth are not even allowed to look upon His face.”
“They say…” repeated Farris. “I get the impression you know more than you let on.”
The Arch-Canon smiled weakly. “Farris Silvertongue, that is the most sensible thing you’ve said since this meeting began. Let’s say I give you what you need to fly the Triad’s army south, and a few hundred of my own to join them. What next?”
“We’ll fortify the entrance to Meadhbh’s Tomb and scout the area. We’ll protect the Lady will all of our might.”
“And are you willing to do whatever it takes?”
“Yes,” said Farris, slowly. He recalled Morrígan’s form after she killed King Diarmuid. The two great black-feathered wings that unfurled from her body. Argyll sprinting towards her. Morrígan throwing him from the Tower of Sin…. “There is nothing more important right now than stopping Morrígan. Nothing.”
The Arch-Canon smiled. “I’ll see to it that an adequate number of ships harboured at Sin are fitted with focus-crystals. Though we will only allow for enough to see them to Dromán and back. And those blasphemous long-distance ships will remain grounded here. Furthermore, I’ll have a small portion of our remaining Churchguard assembled at dawn.”
Farris nodded. Two half measures. More than enough to count this as a win.
Cathbad rose to his feet. “All that’s left to be asked now Farris, is will you be ready to join them in this fight?”
“No,” said Farris, extending a hand. “But I won’t let that stop me.”
“An admirable attitude. But what if you are called to lead them? Dog-headed determination alone is not enough to be a ruler. If that time comes, will you be able to tell the difference between what is right, and what must be done?”
Farris did not answer, and Cathbad did not wait for a reply. With a sweep of his robes, the Arch-canon turned to leave. But it wasn’t the splendour of his garments that kept Farris’s attention as he left, nor was it the confidence in his stride. The harsh eyes of Lord Seletoth stared down at the Simian from the portrait across the room, as if having already cast judgment on his actions.
“Not yet,” muttered Farris, “We’re just getting started.”
Chapter 2:
The Last Carríga
The city of Penance still lingers between joy and despair. Many citizens continue to celebrate their so-called victory over the horde, but they do not know what this victory implies. They do not understand what happened up there in the Tower of Sin. None saw the look on the Silverback’s face as he slid a dagger across King Diarmuid’s neck, nor did they witness the birth of a new god. No, something potentially more powerful than any god, if the Lady is correct.
I jumped on the opportunity to leave Penance with the Chief Engineer, to fly south tomorrow and begin fortifying the Dromán outpost. Before we left, the Chief Engineer convinced Farris to petition the Churchguard to help us. As much as I hate to admit it, the Simian does have a way with words, but I doubt he’ll be able to convince the Arch-Canon. He’d have a better chance of purging all the poison from the Glenn.
Journal of Padraig Tuathil, 13th Day under the Moon of Nes, AC404
***
The body of Cathal Carríga stared unblinking at the ceiling through eyes in sunken sockets. Although a lad not much past twenty years, he had the appearance of a man who had seen four times that. Of a man who had lived a long, and healthy life.
Fionn bowed his head as grieving thoughts ran through his mind. Thoughts that were not his own.
He would have died fighting the horde if he was able, said Sir Bearach. The dead knight’s voice echoed against the back of Fionn’s head. He doesn’t deserve to slip away from the world like this.
Fionn grimaced, balling the hand that once belonged to Sir Bearach into a fist. Nobody does.
Across the clinic, Aislinn Carríga gazed down at her dying brother. Almost as large as a Simian, her presence alone brought the clinic into a deep, solemn silence.
Only the two healers tending to the dying man made any sound. One pulled back the sheets to take Cathal’s hand into her own. Beneath yellowing translucent skin, red and blue veins slithered up the frail arm, where a slender tube entered the man’s skin at his wrist. The healer deftly pulled the tube from the arm, revealing the significant length which had lain within. Fionn tried hard not to recoil with fright.
Simian medicine, mused Fionn. Our white magic and alchemy are far simpler than their chemistry, so why keep him alive with the latter? Not that it mattered any longer. The Silverback had promised Aislinn that her brother would be allowed pass in peace. But now, the Silverback too lay in another clinic’s bed, still unconscious since the night the horde came. It was likely he’d recover, but in what state, the healers could only guess.
Fionn flexed the fingers on his left hand, his own hand. The white mages of the Triad had done a great job of healing the wound Morrígan had left behind, but they could no nothing to make his hand less grotesque, with swollen pink skin now all that lay between his index and far-finger. Those he could move but nothing more.
