Her faith, already undermined by what the abbess had told her, had been shaken to its footings. How dare the Carnal Cardinal attempt a miracle! If he had set himself above the gods he had sworn to serve, it was no wonder Hightspall had lost hope.
Would things get better if she destroyed the Covenant? Unfortunately, she had no idea where to look for something that a god and a demon had hidden. It could be anywhere.
No, not anywhere. K’nacka and Behemoth, being eternal enemies, would not have trusted each other, so the Covenant must have been hidden somewhere that neither could gain access to. Perhaps in the keeping of a third party agreeable to both, such as Fistus?
K’nacka had expected it to be in the Graven Casket, though the casket had not been opened before Greave touched the god-bone to it, and it had been empty … save for those flakes of ash. Black flakes — the way paper burned when it did not have enough air! Yes, for the outside of the casket had been covered in soot; it had come off on her fingers.
The Covenant must have been destroyed from outside, by fire, but by whom? Not K’nacka — he had been shocked to discover that the casket was empty. And what would Fistus have to gain by destroying such a valuable document? That only left Behemoth.
Why would he destroy a Covenant that, evidently, gave him power over a god? He would not — unless he had another copy.
‘That’s it!’ she said, rubbing her silver medal furiously, though after Hildy’s revelation about her father it gave her no comfort. ‘It was Behemoth — Father — ’
The air went so cold that it crackled, then with a little pop a man appeared, sitting cross-legged on the rocks before her. He was an odd-shaped, awkward-looking fellow not much taller than she was, with thin, short legs and a heavy, muscular body. His skin was dark, his head bald, his nose hooked, and the point of his beard jutted towards her like a javelin.
‘You called me, Daughter?’ His voice was so deep it might have been formed inside the hill; it reverberated like the throb of an organ pipe.
‘You called me daughter,’ she whispered. ‘Are — are you really my father?’
Though she yearned for a father, a demon was the last father she could want. Besides, a mighty demon like Behemoth might have a thousand daughters; she might mean nothing to him. He was her god’s enemy and had undermined everything she believed in. Astatine was too overcome to speak.
‘You expected some great, hulking brute?’ Fire flickered in his raised eyebrow. ‘I prefer this form; both enemies and friends underestimate me. What do you want, Daughter?’
‘Th-the Graven Casket was empty. What happened to the Covenant?’
‘I gave Fistus the power he craved so desperately; in return, he allowed me to destroy it.’
He sounded convincing, but he was the Prince of Deceivers. ‘Why, Father?’
‘To make mischief.’
Astatine’s entire life had been submission and obedience, but neither would serve her now. Dare she challenge the Lord of Perdition? Sweat dripped from her palms at the thought, not to mention that she owed her father respect. Could she put that obligation aside? She must. ‘I–I don’t believe you. I know you made a copy of the Covenant. Why, Father?’
Behemoth swelled enormously; his black eyes flashed and his left hand shot out, encircling her wrist like an icy manacle. ‘How dare you question me? You are over-bold, Daughter.’
Astatine had never been bold; the other novices had mocked her as ‘the mouse’. She wanted to scream and run, but reminded herself of her oath, and it stiffened her. She would keep her word to the Abbess, whatever it cost. The mouse had to bite.
She caught Behemoth’s dark wrist with her pale hands, squeezed hard and, amazingly, he winced.
‘You are my daughter,’ he said, glowering at her. After shrinking to his former size, he resumed his seat.
‘Well?’ she said, pretending an imperiousness she could not feel.
‘Life in Elyssian becomes tedious, when one faces an eternity of it. That’s why I left and set up Perdition, though I was no more contented there.’
‘But Elyssian is the epitome of perfection,’ said Astatine, wide-eyed.
Behemoth rolled his eyes. ‘Even reaping the souls of the wicked begins to pall, when one is the wickedest of all. There’s no villainy I haven’t done, Daughter, and tempting mere mortals into sin lost its joy long ago. In short, I was bored witless. And so, I discovered, was my enemy, your precious god, K’nacka.
‘We took to meeting in Hightspall for a game of dice, each striving to best the other, and I won more often than I lost. But without something precious to lose, even gaming’s charm fades, and the stakes grew ever higher until, finally, K’nacka had nothing left to put on the table. Nothing save a pound of his own flesh.’
‘Father?’ said Astatine, not understanding, though a chilly wave of horror surged through her. This was terribly wrong; she did not want to hear it.
‘Having nothing else, he wagered one of his balls — and lost.’
‘Balls?’ Her cheeks grew hot.
‘He should have known that my dice were loaded.’ Behemoth’s thick lip curled. ‘K’nacka begged for another chance, double or nothing, and I was happy to dice again — as long as he signed a binding Covenant promising to pay tribute to Perdition if he lost the other ball.’
‘A tribute of what?’
‘A tithe of souls, the most perfect and saintly of all those who enter Elyssian. You can imagine how delightful I found that irony, Daughter. The harder that mortals strove to live good lives, the more likely they’d attract the attention of K’nacka and become part of his tribute to me. Good or bad, I’d reap their souls.’ Behemoth grinned savagely. ‘And I won. Suddenly, my life had meaning again.’
And this monster was her father? No wonder she felt that she had been carrying a sickness around inside her, infecting the world.
‘Hildy said she could hear the shrieks of the saintly,’ Astatine whispered. ‘Oh, Father, how could you?’
‘It’s what I’m for. Hightspall needs me, and so do the gods. Without evil, where is the good?’
‘But Hightspall is falling apart, and it’s your fault. You’ve got to put things right.’
‘I don’t do right,’ he snapped.
‘Then why did you burn the Covenant?’
‘So K’nacka could not.’
‘Where did you hide the copy?’
His smile faded; he seemed to be reassessing her. ‘In a place where you can never see it.’ Behemoth faded away.
Did he mean that the Covenant was hidden in Perdition? Could she only destroy it, and keep her oath, by dying?
‘Fistus looks ready to work his “miracle”,’ said Roget as they watched the preparations in front of the Cloven Shrine. A hundred red-robed monks stood guard to either side.
Greave ached for a drink. Stone sober, he lacked the courage to do what must be done. ‘Can you tell what spell it is?’
Roget focused his spyglass. ‘No, but it’s no ordinary magic.’
Think of this as another seduction, Greave told himself, the riskiest and most glorious of your life. It got him to his feet, but he felt no thrill — this task was all risk and no reward. ‘We’d better move.’
‘Taking him on is suicide.’
‘I’m dead either way.’ Greave headed across the rock-littered hillside. Roget and Astatine followed.
The Carnal Cardinal turned to meet them, his mouth as red as a feeding vampire’s. ‘You think to challenge me?’ Fistus pounded his chest. ‘I’ve done a deal with Behemoth himself.’
‘And betrayed the gods you swore to serve,’ said Greave, only now realising his own hypocrisy.
‘They’ve forsaken us and must be cast down.’
A white object in Fistus’s hand reflected the light; something small, pointed and familiar. Ants scurried across Greave’s scalp.
‘The god-bone,’ he said hoarsely. ‘That’s what you were after all along.’