“Let me go!” Blade cried out.
Father Ver turned from Numinous and shouted, “You will calm yourself!”
Instantly, the look of rage vanished from Blade’s features. He straightened his clothes as Tower set him back on the ground.
“The boy is not the Omega Reader,” said Father Ver, coolly. “He failed the thirteenth test; he faced an ancient monster, and could not defeat it.”
“But-” said Blade.
“The truth is before your very eyes. The boy misjudged his opponent; the true Omega Reader would never deceive himself so. This boy was just the latest in a long string of false hopes.” Father Ver glanced at the fallen boy with a look that was half pity, half contempt. “Numinous was poisoned by arrogance. This is one of the most insidious forms of self-deception.”
Infidel wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation. Instead, she moved slowly toward the boy, her eyes full of guilt. Relic intercepted her, taking her by the arm as he said to Tower, “Aurora has some skill as a healer. Let her look at the boy; perhaps his life can be saved.”
I doubted that Aurora was up to the task. Barely a minute had passed and both the boy’s arms were swelling up, turning purple from where bone had punched through muscle. His body trembled as he sank deeper into shock. A cold compress on the forehead wasn’t going to fix this.
However, the question of what Aurora could do was rendered moot as the man in red robes stepped toward Lord Tower. “You threatened to cut off my hands if I touched your precious Golden Child,” he said. “Now that he’s failed you, do you mind if I save his life?”
The knight nodded. “Do what you can, Deceiver.”
I suddenly had an explanation for why this man had a big ‘D’ tattooed on his forehead. I had thought that Deceivers were only bogey-monsters that monks used to frighten orphans. A fundamental tenant of the Church of the Book was that truth was truth; there was nothing subjective under the sun. The reality recorded in the One True Book was the only reality, inviolate, inflexible.
Deceivers, on the other hand, believed that nothing at all is true, not even the experience of our own senses. Everything we assume about reality — that the sky is blue, that grass is green, that snow is cold and fire is hot — is merely a shared delusion, constantly reinforced by people desperately clinging to the illusion of stability in a world where nothing is absolute. The One True Book was merely a work of fiction in the Deceiver’s world view. The Deceivers thought of themselves as shared authors of this fiction, and, as such, were free to edit reality to their liking. They were the greatest enemies of the church. What was one doing here, alive? I couldn’t believe Father Ver hadn’t slit his throat the second they met.
The Whisper recoiled as the Deceiver knelt beside the boy, stepping back several feet, as if she didn’t want to risk breathing the same air.
“Can you help him?” asked Aurora, as she knelt down next to the Deceiver.
“I possess the power to heal any injury,” the Deceiver said, running his hand along the boy’s arm. “Though I believe we were all mistaken in thinking the boy was seriously harmed. Wipe the blood away, and he’s suffered little more than a few scratches and bruises.”
And, indeed, as the Deceiver wiped the blood and grit from the boy’s limbs, the flesh no longer looked so distorted. Perhaps it had only been a trick of the light that had made the wounds look so serious before.
“He’s just had the wind knocked out of him,” the Deceiver said, cradling the boy’s face, pushing back the eyelids to look at the dilated pupils. “He’ll come out of it any minute.”
Everyone had fallen silent as they watched the Deceiver tend to the fallen boy. The only sound was a faint rasping noise. The sound was coming from the Truthspeaker, grinding his teeth. His eyes were narrowed into slits as he watched the Deceiver restore the boy to health. Finally, he could stand no more.
“Get your unholy hands off him!” He jumped forward, his robes flying as he kicked the kneeling man in the head. “I would rather see the boy die than be tainted by your filthy lies!”
Numinous, still unconscious, gasped as his left arm twisted once more, obviously broken. Yet, the boy still looked better than he had before. The Deceiver lay beside the boy, glaring at Father Ver with naked hatred as he rubbed the sandal-print on the side of his jaw.
Tower grabbed Father Ver by the nape of his neck and hauled him back before he could kick the Deceiver again. “Control yourself,” he said. “Zetetic is using his power for good, as promised.”
“Promises mean nothing to his kind!” Father Ver shouted. His spittle flecked Tower’s faceplate. “He swore only to use his power to alter his own form, and already he has broken this vow by altering the boy’s body!”
Zetetic, the Deceiver, said, “Technically, I gave myself the power to heal. The boy’s body wasn’t altered, only restored, until you meddled.”
Father Ver went bug-eyed. He once more lunged toward his enemy, but Lord Tower held him back. “His presence is an abomination! The king is mad to include him on this quest!”
Tower sighed. “If the king is mad, so be it. He is still the king, and it’s our duty to obey him. I forbid you to strike Zetetic again.”
“There are greater authorities than the king,” Father Ver growled. “You cannot honestly expect me to simply stand and bear witness to such blasphemy!”
“You could always close your eyes,” Zetetic said.
Father Ver sputtered a string of meaningless syllables as his rage stripped him of coherent speech.
“Get back to work,” the knight said to Zetetic as he lifted the Truthspeaker from his feet and carried him back several yards.
The Deceiver looked at the boy and shrugged sadly. “I’ve done all I can. Father Ver has aborted the newborn reality we created where the boy was cured. Still, I think it persisted long enough to save the boy’s life.”
Aurora still knelt beside the unconscious child, probing his arm tenderly with her beefy fingers. She looked up and said, “I can set the arm in a splint. For a boy this age, the bone will heal in a matter of weeks.”
Father Ver turned away in disgust. He grumbled to Tower, “At the command of an earthly king we ally ourselves with liars, ogres, and rogues. What does it matter if our quest succeeds when we corrupt our very souls in the journey?”
“The primal dragons are the enemy of all mankind,” said the knight, resting the Gloryhammer on his shoulder. “If I must be damned in order that the world can be free of their tyranny, I shall pay the price. You, of all people, understand the importance of our mission.”
Father Ver’s shoulders sagged. His voice trembled as he whispered, “Very well. But the boy must remain behind. If he isn’t the Omega Reader, we have no business endangering a child.”
Tower nodded. “I concur.”
Father Ver gave Relic a rueful glance. “The hunchback doesn’t believe he’s lying, but I still don’t trust him or his whorish toy. Given all they know of our quest, I must advise you to destroy them.”
Blade stepped over to the conversation.
“I second that opinion,” he said. “I was impressed with the War Doll’s strength, but now that I’ve seen its savagery, I fear it’s a danger to us all.”
“Thank you for your counsel. However, since we can’t have pack animals on this mission, it seems wasteful to destroy the War Doll. It would make a good substitute for a mule.” Tower looked up the shaft. The sun was no longer directly overhead, and the shadows in the cave grew deeper. “Our emotions run high at the moment. We won’t be ready to leave until morning. I shall make my decision then.”
Despite the fact that he was the subject of the ongoing conversation, no one was paying attention to Relic. He walked to the wall where the Golden Child had hit. There was a spattering of blood dripping down the stone. Casually, he reached out and dabbed the gore with a rag-covered finger. Then, since he still carried Infidel’s weaponry, he drew the bone-handled knife from its scabbard, and ran his blood-damp finger along the steel.