"Salve, fili," she Whispered.
I focused my Will, and touched the storming mass of energy coiled beneath the circle. With a tiny exhalation, I said yes to the magick, and the rooftop of Tour Montparnasse fell away behind me.
The white basilica went from being a white dot on the horizon to a rounded dome that filled my vision. The green-colored sculpture of St. George and the dragon loomed, and for a second, I thought I was going to impale myself on the saint's upraised standard. The Chorus flowed into a swirling umbrella of energy beneath me, absorbing the shock of the landing, and I walked away from the jump as casually as if I had just stepped off an escalator.
Precision targeting: the joy of having a professional set the spell for you.
Vraillet, standing in the observation tower off to my left, whistled and waved to get my attention. I jogged over, noticing the heat radiating through the stones of the roof. The Chorus refused to fold back into my head; the heat made them agitated, even though there was no active threat.
In a little while, the sun would break the horizon and its light would hit this point, the highest point in Paris-Tour Montparnasse, notwithstanding. Axis mundi, I thought, trying not to dwell on the sensation that I had been in this situation before. Running in front of dawn, trying to stop those who waited for the light. Over and over, I thought, until we got it right.
I handed up the wooden box holding the swords and then grabbed the lip of the tower, hauling myself up and over the edge. Inside, the stone was black with age; it was like crawling into a tomb, and the Chorus collapsed into an even tighter array. The stairs were narrow and steep, and the ceiling was six inches too low, and I slipped more than once on the way down.
As Vivienne had warned me, the tower's egress was on the side of the church, and in order to reach the main chapel, I had to walk around the front of the church. The ground fell away quickly from Sacre-C?ur, and the view down the steps and out across Paris was phenomenal, all the more so with the radiant light from the souls of the Watchers who had gathered for the Coronation. Seeing the rippling wave of their lights as they zeroed in on me took my breath away, and for a moment, my courage wavered.
The Architects were gone, and I was on my own. Even though I had made this choice myself, even though I had come here of my own volition, the reality was a sudden shock. A moment of terror at the enormity of the task before me. Even more so than when I had climbed the tower in Portland to face Bernard. It had been different that night: I was the man for the job. I had been driven to that point for the very purpose of stopping the mad alchemist.
This was different. In a little while, the light of the dawn would inaugurate a new era of leadership of La Societe Lumineuse. There were people inside Sacre-C?ur who were qualified for the role, who had fought hard to be there. What the hell was I going to do? I was one man, standing against the assembled rank. I had no allies, no support. I was all alone, and one man couldn't make much difference against a host of this size. Against all the forces arrayed against him.
One is a start, John Nicols reminded me. Isn't this how you cross the Abyss? By being here-in the now-and anchoring yourself. His presence was like a spike driven into the ground, and for a split second, the world revolved around this point beneath my feet. I could feel everything around me: the thick ocean of the Land banging against my spike into the Weave; the thousand points of light of all the other Watchers doing the same thing; the sun, behind me, creeping closer to the horizon as the planet spun on its axis. Be true. Here. Now.
The attention of the Watchers was now upon me. Witnesses, every one of them. Making True the Record. For a second, we stared at each other, marking this moment in time.
There were too many of them; fighting them wasn't the way. Just as pushing against the tide of energy flowing into the church behind me was equally as pointless. I could not stop the sun from rising. I could not stop the Coronation from happening.
Philippe's recommendation rose up in my mind, a burning coal of anger still resident in my head. Burn it all down. Floating above, buoyed aloft by the heat rising from this hot desire was John Nicols' demand from the woods outside Ravensdale. Show me altruistic occultism. Show me that one man can make a difference.
"Salve, mi fratres," I said, breaking the silence, and offering them the traditional greeting. They were my brothers, after all. Against the vast etheric sea, they were as tenuous points as I, tiny outposts barely able to hold their ground against the battering waves of energy pummeling them. They were alone too, as frightened as I was as to what happened next. They were no closer or further away from understanding than I.
We were all Seekers.
"What is the meaning of this, Viator?" someone inquired from the front rank.
Vraillet, still holding the box of swords, only shook his head. It wasn't his place to say.
But the question had been asked. The opportunity given. I would be allowed to answer.
"Five years ago-" I started, trying to reach as many of them as I could before someone decided to not wait and hear me out. Before they decided to incinerate the air in my lungs. The words were ready, almost as if I had been waiting a long time to make this speech.
Perhaps I had been. Perhaps this was what I had wanted to say to Antoine on the riverbank. Or to Philippe when he had come to die. Or perhaps it was what I had never managed to tell myself.
"Five years ago," I continued, "I was challenged to a duel by Antoine Briande. He was a Traveler at the time, and I was but a Journeyman brother. We fought, with swords, beneath the Pont Alexandre bridge. He claimed victory, and so was it inscribed upon the Record. Yet, I stand before you this morning. Am I ghost, or is the Record wrong?"
No one lit their spell. I continued before the moment broke.
"Two months ago, some of your brothers attempted to bring about the end of the world with a heinous device built from knowledge left behind by Hermes Trismegistus. Look around you, brothers; if you know nothing of this act, then consider the possibility that the man next to you did. That your brother condoned an experiment where thousands of innocent souls were harvested. That your brother cared so little for the lives of those he had sworn to protect from the mysteries that he allowed them to be torn from their flesh and transformed into energy meant to power the device.
"Antoine Briande, as a Protector-Witness of our fraternity, was there that night in Portland when the Key of Thoth was ignited. What did he claim when he returned as the Witness? That he stopped the magi responsible from causing even more havoc than they had. Did he claim that the deaths sustained were a lesser of evils? It could have been much worse. Did he tell you that?"
The Chorus held its anchor against the chaotic churn of the Land. The waves beating against me were both thick and diffuse. There were too many magi present, all fighting to tap the currents without being burned by the profusion of power. Some were struggling to control their taps, more had given up and were listening.
"More than fifty thousand died that night. Have we become so inhuman that all we can say is that it could have been worse?" I shook my head. "But it got worse, didn't it? What happened after Protector Briande 'saved' us all? What came next?