Book of The Dead

Present day

Recillia kept herself still and regal. Back straight, eyes steady, she projected confidence, her Authority restrained but ever present, held against her skin like armour. Over her left shoulder, her father was struggling to match her composure, muttering under his breath and shifting his weight.

Without a change in expression, she lifted one leg and trod on his foot, driving the heel in painfully. He grunted and opened his mouth, but she turned her head ever so slightly and he wisely shut it again.

This is why you were deemed unworthy. Even in the face of the greatest beasts of the rift, you must not flinch.

Not that anything had ever come from the rifts that were remotely as dangerous as the people in this room. Hopefully, her father’s signs of weakness had gone largely unseen.

It was a foolish hope, and she tossed it away the moment she recognised it. The gathered Lords and Ladies of the great houses were masters of the game; they would be circling like sharks were it not for the protocol that kept them locked in place.

Movement to her left drew her attention, yet she did not shift her gaze, keeping it locked dead ahead. Five metres across the lavish path, Nostas Jorlin, heir apparent of the house of Jorlin, met her eyes levelly. Did she detect a slight curve to his lip? Smiling? Here? He wouldn’t dare. That coward had never taken a risk in his entire life. He’d never had to.

With steely determination, she firmed her gaze until it was sharp enough to bore a hole in an enchanted diamond, daring him to match her will.

You’ll never win. You lack hunger. Break, or I will break you.

Predictably, the Jorlin heir could not hold. A small surge of triumph was quickly suppressed as the lordling turned his eyes ever so slightly. A meaningless victory, there were more important things to fight for here.

To her left and right, heads of houses were lined up along with their heirs, bishops behind each one, deep within the grand cathedral. Divine power lay thick in the air, with so many of those chosen by the gods stood in one place, but there were those for whom even they had to show respect.

The great doors swung open soundlessly to reveal the Deacon, dressed in his full finery and holding the staff of his office. With great solemnity, he raised his staff and brought it down, sending a resounding boom echoing throughout the chamber. One, two, three, four five times the sound resonated, so deep Recillia could feel it in her belly.

As the last vibrations ceased, each and every noble bowed deeply at the waist, lowering their eyes to the floor, where they froze. Slowly, the Deacon began to walk, his staff held before him with two hands, Divine light radiating from the holy symbol set at the tip. Behind him came those who were the true subject of this ceremony. There were five of them, all but one robed from head to toe, only their mouths uncovered. The other was dressed for mourning, in black robes that covered them entirely.

In single file they walked, shuffling along the path, the highest nobles of the western province bowing at their passage. As they approached, Recillia felt a pressure weighing down upon her and she firmed her resolve. When the Deacon became level with her, she was fighting to keep sweat from forming on her brow. Her Authority, powerful, irresistible under normal circumstances, now quaked under the light of an even greater power.

When the robed figures themselves drew close, that feeling intensified, to the point of becoming suffocating. With intense focus, she drew air in through her nose. Shallow breaths, gently, it was only the way to get air into her body.

Thankfully, they didn’t pause and continued their stately march. Once they’d passed, the pressure eased and she was able to breathe easily again. Nevertheless, Recillia found herself shaken by the experience. Never before had she felt so hopelessly outmatched in Divine Favour, not since her Ascension.

It was one thing to know who these people were, a very different thing to experience it for herself.

When he reached the end of the path, the Deacon raised his staff and repeated the ritual, bringing it down five times once again. As the reverberations faded, he lowered himself to his knees, placed the staff flat before him, then pressed his face to the floor.

Upon that dais, was a place not even he, the most senior church official in the province, was allowed to set foot.

The five figures approached, then ascended the steps, only pausing when they had taken their place upon the dais.

Now a new figure stepped into the light.

The Baron strode down the path, ornate robes glittering with perhaps too much finery to be considered good taste.

Ten steps before he would draw level, he paused, then knelt, crossing his hands across his chest.

“Kneel and receive the words of the Gods,” he intoned.

At his words, Recillia smoothly bent her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor. As unaccustomed as they were to being placed in such a position, not a single member of the nobility hesitated. Disobedience in a place such as this was simply unthinkable. Who would defy the gods themselves?

Thick silence descended upon the chamber as every individual, no matter how great or how lowly in the hierarchy, could scarcely bring themselves to breath.

The Oracles were about to speak.

She saw nothing except the woven carpet before her eyes, but Recillia listened intently, unwilling to let a syllable go unheard.

“There is a corruption within the Western Province, burrowed into the heart of this great city, like a worm coring an apple.”

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She didn’t know which of them spoke, she didn’t want to know. Those words rippled through the air and drilled into her ears with an unnatural pressure. She clenched her teeth against the pain. To make a sound would shame her house for a generation. She would sooner bite off her tongue.

Another spoke this time, a female speaker, yet the inexplicable weight of the words was the same.

“Unholy practices have spread like wildfire across the empire. Long-dormant forces are stirring to disrupt our great works.”

Her heart thudded in her chest and she thought she tasted blood, but Recillia would not break.

“Our sight is clouded. The cause must be rooted out.”

Recillia’s eyes bulged. A shocking admission from the Oracles. Their divine sight was clouded? How? Why?! She could feel the shock ripple through the gathered nobles, but none disturbed the ceremony.

“As our hands, it is your place to act. This province must be purified.”

As the last words were spoken the pressure eased at last. She heard some crumpling sounds, as though several people had collapsed to the ground. Who could it have been? Everyone was kneeling. Everyone except the Oracles themselves.

“Rise,” the Baron said, his voice tense.

As she stood, Recillia chanced a look toward the dias and saw four of the Oracles had collapsed. The fifth member, dressed in all black, tended to them, laying them out comfortably.

“Bow,” the Baron commanded.

Again, the gathered nobility bowed at the waist.

“Depart in silence,” their leader intoned.

Minds buzzing with what they had heard, the nobles left, turning toward the distant entrance along with the partner across the path and moving quietly, not allowing their steps to echo through the stone hall.

~~~

“Uncle, what is happening?”

Alastor, Lord of house Erryn, frowned ever so slightly, but did not reprimand his niece for her words. A clear sign of his own unease.

“Something rare. Something unusual. We must tread carefully, my niece. There is great danger and great opportunity in this moment. We may rise or fall on these turbulent waters.”

All around, subdued conversations similar to her own were occurring as shellshocked nobles consulted their most trusted relatives and allies.

From the grand cathedral, the Baron had ordered all attendees to assemble in a nearby chamber. Nobody would be allowed to leave until decisions had been made on how to proceed.

Recillia felt her heart accelerate in her chest as she cast her eyes around the room. The most powerful people in the western province were gathered here, a rare occasion in itself, but the tension in the air, the unease, was a new experience. Even her uncle, normally a rock of confidence and power, held himself still, as if afraid any movement could compromise his position.

Sweating and visibly nervous, her father made his way to them as the other Bishops, having finished their own rituals, began to filter into the room.

“Are the Oracles alright?” she asked before he could say anything inane.

He glanced at her, irritated.

“They’re fine. Communing with the gods and speaking on their behalf is… draining. To qualify as an Oracle, they must be exceedingly… durable… against Divine influence.”

If what they went through was more painful than just listening to them speak, it was unsurprising they collapsed.

“It’ll be weeks until they’re well enough to do anything so difficult again,” her father went on, “but they will be cared for here at the Cathedral to the best of our ability. Now let’s forget about the Oracles and focus on what they fucking said. Corruption? Blinded? What is going on here, Alastor?”

“Calm yourself,” Recillia snapped. “We must project the proper air in a moment of crisis like this. Do you want the family to look weak?”

With some difficulty, the Bishop managed to master himself as his eyes darted around the room.

“I thought the politics of the Church was bad enough. This is suffocating.”

“You’ve been swimming with goldfish, brother. This is a pool of sharks,” Lord Erryn said coldly. “Try to be an asset, and control your reactions.”

Face darkening at the criticism, her father nevertheless drew himself up and snapped, “Well, what can we expect to happen next?”

Alastor turned his gaze toward the Baron, who stood surrounded by six of his closest confidants. All senior members of his court, members of his own family or trusted advisors.

“The words of the Oracles could be interpreted in several ways,” Lord Erryn began softly. “Corruption in the city could refer to infiltrators, criminal enterprise, or even political malfeasance. Of all the people in this room, the one who is most damaged by these revelations is the Baron. He will be desperate to be seen as doing all he can to resolve this problem.”

“I expect I will be called upon soon then,” Recillia said.

Alastor nodded.

“Your position among the Magisters will be crucial to keep the slayers in line. If the Baron isn’t a fool, and he usually isn’t, then he will act swiftly to try and root out the cause of this corruption. Officers of the law will be appointed with sweeping powers. The church will launch a purge to hunt down unbelievers. There will be a crackdown of the slayers. Even the nobility will not be spared. I hope your books are in order, brother.”

“As clean as your own, I’ve no doubt,” her father sniped.

“Then you are in trouble,” Alastor smiled grimly, his eyes locked on the huddle around the Baron. “Luckily, I instructed the staff to straighten out the crooked edges when I heard the Oracles were coming.”

“We need to choose a side,” Recillia stated, and her uncle nodded while her father looked confused.

“The Baron is under pressure. If his response is deemed to be insufficient, then he is likely to be dismissed from his post and a new leader promoted in his place. The Emperor is unlikely to tolerate incompetence in the face of such direct words from the gods.”

“So if he succeeds…”

“Then he will solidify his power and rise in the eyes of the court. But if he fails…”

“... Then we need to be in position to replace him,” her father finished the thought.

“Thanks to Recillia’s position, our family will be drawn into events regardless of what we do. It’s likely the Baron will seek to replace you with someone more loyal eventually, but in the short term, such a decision would do more harm than good,” Alastor observed. “If we are careful, we can present ourselves as competent, part of the solution, directly involved, yet not closely allied with the Baron. From there, we can seek advantage no matter what occurs.”

“I trust I will have the full support of the family then, uncle?” Recillia asked.

He smiled humorlessly.

“Of course. The reputation of the family will depend on your actions during this time.”

He broke off as the Baron stepped forward, grim-faced, into the centre of the room, raising his voice.

“My lords and ladies, if I can have your attention, please. The Oracles have delivered us a troubling Divine statement. As the hands of the Gods, it is our place to act, and act we shall. The heretics will be purged and the corruption will be annihilated. Of that, there is no doubt. Can the following nobles please gather here to me so that we might discuss the immediate steps that need to be taken.”

He began to call names, and one by one, various officials and heads of houses made their way to him. When her own name was called, Recillia allowed no flicker of emotion to cross her face. Instead, she stepped smoothly and purposefully to the Baron.

This was an opportunity, for the family, and for her. She would not fail.