After the blinding brightness of the snowstorm, it takes me a few seconds to get my bearings.
There’s no one around. All’s quiet except for a mournful cadence of far-off chanting that weaves through the shafts of light radiating from the stained-glass windows. Vaulted ceilings tower overhead. As my feet pad against the plush carpet, the flickering of sweating candelabras stretch my shadow down the long, wide corridor—past grand fireplaces with gilded mantels, elaborate hand-knit tapestries, and glass cases filled with jewel-encrusted diadems. The trinkets in this place alone could feed the entire population of the Parish indefinitely.
I wind through spiraling stairs, searching, ducking into the occasional alcove for cover from hooded passersby. The Anchorites glide along on hover discs like bloody specters, exchanging wordless nods with one another before floating past me.
The deeper I travel into the Priory’s bowels, the louder the chanting becomes. I finally find myself on a balcony that overlooks a gathering of the monks. I hide behind a pillar. They look like a mass of flames, all on their knees facing an altar of sparkling gold. Above the altar, a stained-glass mural depicts a flowing figure in white, arms outstretched.
The Deity.
Below this figure, tumbling into a pit, the mural shows two mythical beasts. One resembles the galloping caballus, except that it seems deformed somehow, smaller—with tinier hoofs, no flowing mane, longer ears, larger eyes, and a sparse tail except for the tuft at the end. The other beast is much larger, a grayish behemoth with large, flapping ears, sharp tusks, and a long curling snout.
The stained glass comes to life as the holographic projectors embedded in the crystal panes are activated. The two animals bite and tear at each other, even as they fall into darkness. The glass turns black as night, then burns bright with an intense white light.
“Behold,” says a hooded monk from the pulpit. “The Great Deity cast down his mightiest angels, whose lust for power and greed led to the Great War of Ashes that destroyed the Holy Land of Usofa. As punishment, they were transformed into the Beasts known as Asinus and Elephantidae, forever condemned to the eternal darkness. Because of their grievous sin, no one shall ever reap any rewards that set them higher than the rest. So spaketh the Deity.”
“The Deity’s words shall bind us,” the gathered Anchorites chant in response.
I shake my head. Nonsensical stories, used to frighten and control the ignorant.
Darting between the stone columns, I pause at the landing of a spiral staircase just in time to hear a hovering sentry Anchorite whisper to his companion, “The child upstairs…” before they glide past and disappear round a bend.
It feels like a hammer is pounding nails into my heart as I dart up the steps. Two of the monks are standing sentinel beside the entrance to an open room that’s filled with beds. A dormitory. I pull the hood farther over my head and nod, striding inside as if I belong there.
Unlike the rest of the Priory, the décor is sparse in here. Empty beds line the walls on either side. My eyes strain through the gloom as I cut between them, searching for some signs of life.
I reach the last bed, which is likewise empty. He’s not here. I feel crushed, as if someone’s cast me down a dark pit with no hope of ever climbing my way out again.
That’s when I hear the soft sound of sniffling. I look up.
Cole is wedged into a corner of the room. He’s sitting on the floor, staring out the window at the snow-smothered landscape.
Suddenly everything else—my training, the covert hits on Establishment targets, even the business with the virus—none of that seems as important.
I close the gap between us, resisting the urge to startle him from behind with a huge hug. “Cole,” I whisper. “It’s me. I’m here.”
He turns away from the flurries glancing off the window and fixes his gaze on me, rubbing his large coffee eyes as if he were awakening from a dream. “Lucky?”
Then I scoop him up into my arms and squeeze him tight, whirling him around for good measure. “You’re getting heavy, buddy!”
“What took you so long?” he whispers in my ear.
“You know me. I’m always getting lost.”
“But you still always find me.” He squeezes me back.
“I missed you so much!”
“Missed you more !”
I set him on his feet and kneel in front of him, stroking his hair, examining his face, holding his hands. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
He shrugs, something I don’t remember him doing much of. “I’m okay. They try to be scary, but it only works a little bit. So then I think of the stories you told me and it gets better.”
He looks so grown up. Like a little man. I’m elated, but saddened at how much I’ve missed and how fast he’s had to mature in my absence.
“Cole, we don’t have much time. I need to take you away from this place. Tomorrow, after the Ascension Ceremony, we’re leaving the Parish. Do they watch you every minute? The Ascension Ceremony will be done by noon, and the crowds will give us a diversion. Do you think you can sneak down and meet me by the side entrance at noon? That’s when the—”
“I know! I know! That’s when the sun’s bright and both arrows are pointing at the one and the two and the clock gongs twelve times! I’m not a baby! I’m five!”
I grin and ruffle his hair. “Of course.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a spare chronometer. “Sorry I missed your birthday. This is for you.”
His eyes flare. “Oooh! What’s that?”
“This will make it easier for you to remember. Just in case you don’t hear the gongs. When the display says One Two Zero Zero, I’ll be waiting right outside and I’ll take you with me.” I place the chronometer into his small palm. “But you have to hide this and make sure no one sees it.”
He stuffs the chron into a slit on the side of his mattress. “I know how to hide things! Remember when we used to hide the story of the Lady under the floorboards back home?” His eyes are glistening with the memory now and he wipes them with his arm.
“Yes, I remember.” How could I ever forget reading Cole his favorite tale—the forbidden story, which I’d found in the library archives, of the regal queen who presided over the magical city? Especially after I discovered the towering statue of her during the Trials and realized that she wasn’t a myth. She had once existed, just like the now-ruined city she protected.
I hug him again, kissing the top of his head. Then I break the embrace and hold him at arm’s length, looking deep into his eyes.
“Someone’s coming,” Cole whispers.
I duck into an alcove.
“There you are, Spark. I’ve been looking everywhere for you, boy. You can’t hide from me.”
The sound of that voice wriggles around my spine like it did before. Suddenly, I’m twelve years old again.
It’s Prior Delvecchio.
SEVEN
My heart catches in my throat. Delvecchio still looks pretty much like the specter that’s haunted my memories and stalked me in nightmares over the years. Perhaps a little more gaunt, the grooves in his face a little deeper.
The Prior’s dark shadow falls over Cole’s bed. “I checked on you earlier and you weren’t in your lessons. I was informed you were ill.”
Cole sinks into his pillow. “My head hurts.”
Delvecchio sits on the bed. His knobby fingers press against Cole’s forehead, rubbing it, lingering too long before pulling away. “You feel just right to me, boy. No fever. But we cannot be too cautious. If you are not feeling well, there’s no sense in wasting your dinner. I’ll have it withheld until you’ve recovered enough to keep it down.” He smiles.