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[Rough Draft] Chapter 72: Shadows of Revelry
Pope Jericho was not a man given to trust easily, and while in principle this went double for those with witch blood running in their veins, the young Pope had chosen to trust Ripper completely from an early age.
While the stories praising Cardinal Gallagher for his daring rescue of the sickly young Pope had spread far and wide among the Church and its followers, the Witch Hunters had their own story, one which lay closer to the truth. It had been priest Gallagher who had led Ripper and other witch hunters into the prison of old Zarus, but their success, escape, and subsequent survival would have been impossible without the albino half-witch.
Even after the small rescue party escaped to the desert, it was Ripper who had carried young Jericho on his back. Ripper had drawn water from a stone, killed and then cured scorpions to keep the young Pope alive. It was an education in survival that had humbled the blind boy. But the most notable lesson that Ripper taught Jericho had been one of silence.
When Gallagher boasted of his deeds before the Cardinals, claiming many of Ripper’s contributions for himself, the albino did not protest. Jericho had waited until they were alone in his bed-chamber to press his protector about the matter. Surely, if Ripper had stood up for himself, he could have requested better conditions for the other witch hunters who had remained loyal to the church and its Cardinals during the fall of old Zarus.
“Those who fear you will not see reason simply because you raise your voice. By remaining silent, I appear meek and agreeable. By holding my tongue and smiling while others claim my victory, I appeal to their vanity. Slowly but surely, their disregard for this bastard albino will grow until they have completely lowered their guard. And then—should you wish, your Holiness—I will crush their necks and break their spines.
“Sometimes, to win the larger battle and achieve a desired result, you must accept a personal loss of pride, however temporary. Force may be the easiest way to win an enemy to your side, but he will forever be your enemy. Mercy and reason will forge friends and allies as long as you show you are willing to compromise.”
Jericho had dwelt on Ripper’s advice over the months and years it took for him to reclaim his eyesight. At first, the grieving, injured boy couldn’t help but wonder if Isaac had used the same tactics to lower his father’s guard before betraying him. But as time moved on, the young Pope grew to realize that not all of the Cardinals of his church were willing to accept him as the Divine Heir. Not only was Jericho blind and sickly, but the only reason he had become Pope in the first place was because his stronger, more capable brothers had all been slaughtered by the Emperor.
Jericho accepted their criticism and, following the advice of his albino half-witch, appealed to their pride and vanity. He acknowledged that he was not their first choice, but he was the only choice that remained. By pandering to their greed and withholding judgment when they displayed their unsightly, hypocritical behavior in public, Jericho gained time to research the ancient archives of the Saint. There he uncovered a method to heal his eyes, using ancient artifacts of bygone eras when the Saints and their armies had fought to purge the world of witches and their blasphemous gods.
When Jericho regained his sight, Cardinal Gallagher and his other supporters quickly hailed his recovery as a sign that Ramiel had blessed the young Pope. Jericho had used his newly gained power to restore order to the Conclave of Cardinals, replacing those who had offended him and pubically abused their authority and position.
In the same breath, the young Pope showed mercy to the half-witches of the Witch Hunter Order, whose state of living had fallen into grave disrepair beneath the suspicious bias of the Cardinals. Jericho implemented a new hierarchy system for the Witch Hunter Order, with the albino at its head as the Order’s Commander and leader. The Pope even agreed to permit a female witch-hunter to serve as Ripper’s third in command, to show that he accepted every one of them as his children and loyal subjects.
As Jericho seized control of New Zarus and reigned in his ever-ambitious Cardinals, he continued to rely on his albino Commander. They had faced the wrath of the Emperor together when Queen Catalina died. They had lured out traitors and spies and watched them burn while sipping wine beneath the western sun.
Jericho had seen the grief and rage on Ripper’s red eyes the day Vanya delivered word of Tarlay’s death and confirmed the appearance of the Calamity Witch in Lafeara. Although the Pope had always suspected that Ripper had elevated Tarlay for more personal reasons, rather than the mix-bloods unique skills, he knew better than to ask. The albino was respectful towards the Divine Heir, more so than any of the Cardinals. Still, where Ripper’s personal feelings were concerned, Jericho would have better luck drawing water from a rock himself.
It was strange to think that, even after all these years, this emotionless killer was his closest friend and confidant.
“Lady Deanira sent word,” Ripper announced as he closed the private residential doors after the priest who carried out the Pope’s washing basin. “It would seem the new blood she obtained for Lady Priscilla’s treatment was successful. The Royal Consort will be ready to deliver her prayers tomorrow as planned.”
Jericho nodded and finished drying his chin and neck with a towel as he wandered into the spacious bedroom chamber. “It’s good to know such precious blood will not go to waste. You are still able to keep Deanira under close watch here, I trust? I want to be informed the moment she makes an unexplained movement or acts suspiciously.”
Ripper survived the permitter of the room before responding, “If you’re that worried, why not simply remove her?”
“And what message would that send to the half-witches under your command?”
“She is the daughter of a Traitor—”
“Who all but helped Lilaru butcher her treacherous father.”
“And yet, you do not fully trust her,” Ripper commented in a neutral tone as he stepped forward to accept the Pope’s used towel, which he folded and set aside on the table beside the bed. “You should trust your gut more, your Holiness.”
Jericho sighed as he turned to regard the reflection in the large gold enameled mirror before him. With his makeup removed, the heavy blue veins that surrounded his eyes and crept up his throat were all the more visible. “The information Deanria has provided us has proven valuable—for now, I will allow her to play her part.”
“And when she reveals her true agenda?”
“All women have an agenda,” Jericho replied with a dismissive snort. “They are not the simple creatures they pretend to be. There is always some hidden, unexpressed desire lurking beneath their painted masks which must be dragged to the surface.”
Ripper did not comment as the Pope turned to face the giant bed, draped in curtains of gold silk and satin sheets. When Jericho extended his arms, the albino stepped forward to remove the Divine Heir’s outer robe, which he draped across a nearby chair.
Jericho sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “What news of Kirsi? Has the Duchess reacted to our message yet?”
“Isaac’s body was delivered as planned. The knights at the border were too stunned to react once they opened the traitor’s box. His remains were carried back to the castle. There has been no movement since.”
“Your scouts could not get closer?”
“No, your Holiness. The forest of Bastiallano is filled with wolves, crows, and other magical beasts who have killed and driven back all attempts to cross it on foot.”
The Pope raised a brow, then scowled as he flung aside the satin sheets and white fur blanket. “Nevermind then. Perhaps Kirsi is biding her time to prepare for something bigger. She might even choose to accuse me publicly in hopes of winning Nicholas’s support. Or perhaps she has been incapacitated by another enemy as the rumors suggest,” Jericho mused tiredly as he settled down against the pillows and pulled the covers up to his cheat. “I can think of no other reason Kirsi would allow Nesta to fall into my hands so easily.”
“What has Lady Nesta told you?”
Jericho narrowed his golden-white eyes at the albino who stood at the foot of his bed. “Nesta does not speak to me. My sister refuses to pray to Ramiel for strength and has rejected all meals and drinks offered to her.”
“She means to weaken herself to prevent you from using her blood to full effect.”
“Which makes me regret using what little blood we took today on some arrogant Royal Consort.”
“Proving the power of the Saint’s bloodline to Nicholas tomorrow will go a long way towards pulling him to our side when Kirsi makes her move. How can he choose a witch who defies Lafeara’s law over the safety and wellbeing of his people?”
“I am aware, Commander. It was my plan after all,” Jericho muttered as he adjusted his pillows and plopped back against them, temporarily closing his eyes. “Was there something else you needed to tell me?”
“Yes, your Holiness.”
The Pope opened his eyes and sighed at Ripper’s grim expression. “What is it?”
“One of our newest recruits, Declan—has gone missing.”
“Declan? The knight you brought back with you to Zarus? Did he not still have a Mentor?”
“Richter and Declan were part of Father Whistler’s community work escort. They were dispatched to deal with a witch sympathizer. When they did not regroup with Father Whistler, my men went looking for them and found Richter’s body in the alley behind the witch sympathizer’s shop. He had been stabbed. Declan and the witch sympathizers were nowhere to be found.”
“So, it sounds like your newest recruit has betrayed us,” Jericho mused with a cynical smile as he studied the Commander. “Perhaps your judgment is still clouded by Tarlay’s death?”
Ripper’s expression did not change, though his red eyes focused on the beautiful landscape painting of a beautiful woman embraced by a cloud of butterflies behind the Pope’s bed. “I have my best trackers looking for him, and I’ve posted several witch hunters at the gate to make sure he does slip past.”
“Yes, it would be troublesome if he went to Nicholas with a story of the Church spreading the very plague we have come to purge.”
“I will not allow that to happen.”
The Pope sighed and messaged the faint bruises on his fingers where he wore his rings of ceremony and office during the day. “He was a knight, so he is a native of the Capital and knows it better than you or I,” Jericho murmured thoughtfully. “I would look into acquaintances of influence who might offer him aid outside the palace first.”
Ripper nodded slowly. “I can spare a few men to watch the barracks. His old Captain and the Knight Commander reside in the nearby district.”
“Well, when you find him, dispose of him quietly. The same goes for his Mentor’s corpse. We must avoid any hint of internal conflict before Prayer Day is over.”
“I will see to it personally, your Holiness.” Ripper bowed respectfully and then turned towards the bedroom door.
“Wait. Declan is a half-air-witch?”
“Yes, your Holiness.”
“Then let your pupil, Vanya hunt him down. She still needs to make up for her mistakes with Kirsi.”
“Vanya is part of Master Gus’s guard,” Ripper replied hesitantly. “He trusts her implicitly.”
“Master Gus will do what is best for the church,” Jericho replied with a grim smile. “Make sure he is here and ready tomorrow should Kirsi make her appearance.”
***
Flickering torches surrounding a field lined with wooden pyres greeted Carina upon her return. She had left Bastiallano briefly with Larissa and her water witches to freeze and retrieve another plague seed. Only two remained, but—thanks to Larissa’s conversation with the bog witch, Azriel—they were now confident that at least one of the remaining pieces was held by the Bog Witch Tribe in Solverga.
‘That’s a problem for another day,’ Carina thought numbly as she focused on the ranks of knights standing in formation between the unlit pyres and the great stone walls of Bastiallano’s fortress. ‘It would be dangerous to enter Arachne’s territory unprepared, not to mention the political implications should I invade Strugna without permission.’
The ice witch turned and signaled to the Witch Captain, who trailed behind her. “Larissa, take Mary with you and go to the Rose Dawn Orphanage. Bring Ivy and the children back with you and dismiss the retainers and teachers who do not wish to follow.”
“Understood, your Grace.” The water witch quickly turned to Mary, and the pair broke off to retrieve a pair of horses from the stables.
Carina focused on the dimly lit bodies wrapped in white sheets laid upon the wooden pyres as she moved to join Captain Silas and Captain Arlo, who waited beside a group of six knights with a torch for each bonfire. Try as she might to feel even a sliver of the grief and anger written upon their faces. All Carina could feel was the cold numbing vortex of power that filled her entire being and tingled against her fingers and skin, begging to be unleashed.
‘I will need this power when it comes time to face Arachne, but first, I must remove Nesta from her brother’s clutches.’
Carina did not want to believe that her friend would willingly turn against her the moment she awoke as a Saint, but the ice witch’s memories of Kirsi’s death at the hands of Nesta and her brother were still incomplete. She suspected that some other power had been needed to help defeat Kirsi while Nesta had been a child.
“Your Grace,” Captain Arlo stepped forward first to offer her a bow.
“Is everything prepared?”
“Yes, thanks to the water witches, we were able to dry the timber used for each pyre. Everything is ready.”
The Duchess nodded and then turned to Captain Silas. “Are the men ready?”
“They are, your Grace,” Silas confirmed gruffly as he glanced towards the three thousand knights assembled around the fortress and across the open plains facing the burial pyres.
“Then let us not keep them outside in the cold longer than necessary,” Carina replied and then stabbed her Glaive into the snow at her feet.
Arlo and Silas took their position on either side of her, the Lieutenants behind them adjusting their positions accordingly as the signal was given. The low thrum of drums built up in the quiet autumn shadows as the torch baring knights marched forward, then split apart in unison, to advance to their respective destinations.
A flicker of lightning stirred in the distant horizon, but the Duchess kept her gaze on the central pyre, which held Isaac’s remains. The sight of his butchered and torn apart body lingered fresh in her memories. With Silas’s help, the Colonel’s remains had been pieced together, then frozen in place with Carina’s magic. After that, a heavy white fabric had been wrapped around Isaac’s disfigured body, which had been laid upon the burial mound in full ceremonial armor.
The torches stopped at the base of each pyre, which rose just to the height of each knight’s eyes. As the drums fell silent, a single bugle played out a haunting lament, carried by the breeze over the ranks of silent knights.
Carina waited until the final note of the bugle carried across the silent plain before she stepped forward to address the waiting army. “Knights of Bastiallano, you have all lost friends, comrades, and brothers in arms today. You have lost your Colonel, a loyal and respected friend to many of the fine officers who stand behind me.” She gestured to the Captains and Lieutenants who stood facing their respective companies. “Some of you may even believe that you have lost faith in Bastiallano, that the honor and respect carried by that name and the generations of families who have served beneath its banner have been tarnished by this brutal and unjustified attack. But more than that, many of you have lost faith in me.”
A heavy silence filled only with the flickering crackle of the torches awaited her pause.
“I do not blame you. I was not there when your brothers fell in battle. I was not there when my friend was threatened and taken hostage against her will. I was not there when Colonel Isaac was dishonorably butchered and humiliated even after death. It was I who failed to uphold the honor your comrades died defending.”
“Your Grace,” Silas whispered tensely as the Duchess paused to take another breath.
Carina held up a hand to silence him as she continued, the calmness of her demeanor fading beneath the passion of her words. “I offer you no excuses. If anyone must accept the blame for this tragedy, let it be me. I can only promise that such a failure will never happen twice. I cannot bring back the brave knights who died today, but I can promise you their deaths are avenged. Together, we will ensure that their sacrifice is not soon forgotten. And before the Pope and his bloody hounds run back to Zarus with their tails between their legs, we will make damn sure that they remember the glory and honor of Bastiallano and tremble beneath its weight!”
The wind stirred through the long shadows which stretched across the quiet snowy plain moments before it erupted beneath a thunderous wave of deafening voices as spears, fists, and shields lifted triumphantly towards the setting sun.
Carina blinked beneath the turbulent raucous, then smiled as she turned back to rejoin her captains. Arlo offered her a simple nod of approval while Silas struggled to keep his composure. The Veteran Captain’s eyes glistened suspiciously with tears as he stepped aside to make room for her.
At Arlo’s signal, the bugler played a final farewell. The notes were quickly drowned out beneath the ranks of metal boots and spears which pounded the snow-covered field in unison.
“Perhaps I should have given my speech later,” Carina murmured as she watched the torchbearers light the pyres.
“Should I call them to attention, your Grace?” Arlo asked worriedly.
“No.” The Duchess shook her head as the flames climbed higher through the dry kindling and timber. “Let the dead carry their voices to the gods who think so little of mortal’s will and courage—”
The ice witch trailed off as the ghost flickered into view before Isaac’s pyre. The dead Colonel walked towards her, passing through the knight who circled the pyre to light the other side. She smiled at the specter and was not at all surprised that none of the knights appeared to have noticed his arrival. Isaac glowed with starlight, unlike Maura and the dead Isbrand King that Carina had seen before. He stood in the snow, wearing the armor he had been laid out in, and then knelt before her with a determined expression.
‘Why are you still here?’ Carina asked, careful to keep her gaze above his head. ‘What have you come to ask of me?’
‘Daughter of Viktor, Queen of Lafeara, I ask only to honor my oath, to serve the last of the Isbrand Queens in death as in life.’
The Duchess frowned. The knowledge she had gained from Viktor and Kirsi both more than explained his request, and yet, the cost was not one easily ignored.
‘I cannot split your soul. If you choose this path, you risk never being reincarnated or reborn in the future.’
‘I wish only to see this life through to the very end, my Queen.’
‘You have proven your loyalty already, Colonel Isaac. I will not jeopardize any future life you might have on such vainglory.’
‘My child—still walks this earth. Even now, she is tangled up in the clutches of the gods. I seek only the opportunity to guide her free from such destruction.’
‘Your child?’ Carina raised a brow as she considered this news. ‘I was under the impression the Pope killed all of your children.’
‘One of three daughters survived. I was able to rescue the child and her mother but lost them in the ensuing chaos. I believe she is connected to you. She may even stand in your way.’
The Duchess narrowed her eyes as the flames of Isaac’s pyre climbed towards his wrapped body. If she was going to grant his request, it must be done before his body burned to ash.
‘If I accept your soul, you will be bound to me and completely incapable of betraying me. Are you willing to risk that, knowing that your daughter may be my enemy?’
‘If I cannot stop her, I will ensure that she does not harm you, my Queen. I swear this upon my mortal soul and any life I may find in the future.’
Carina sighed as she clutched her left wrist. Her fingers stroked the jewel that no longer held Lumi’s spirit. Her scriva had vanished the moment Viktor’s soul expired. The ice witch had been heartbroken to lose both but later learned that the immortal had left a larger sliver of his soul in her care, one that required a much larger jewel to contain it.
‘Perhaps this is destiny.’ The Duchess smiled slightly as she extended her left hand and placed it upon Isaac’s bowed, translucent head. ‘I accept your oath, Isaac Valda, and hereby swear that when we have both achieved our respective goal, I will return your soul to the river of spirits so that you may be reborn.’
‘I could not ask for a nobler, kinder Mistress.’
Isaac’s words faded away with his spirit as the gem of Viktor’s scale flashed awake once more.
It was the roar of the knights that pulled Carina’s attention back to the burning pyres. She smiled beneath the repeating chant of Kirsi’s name. It seemed only fair, given that Kirsi had surrendered to her in the end, that Carina maintain the proud Isbrand Queen’s name—at least until their final battle was over.