Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir (51 page)

The man looked as though he'd been rehearsing the words in his head for days, and his enthusiasm caused him to falter.

“Indeed. Indeed I can! I represent the House of Light—the largest shrine to Isjin in all of Isin,” he said, and I doubted it was much to brag about. “My fellow devotees and I do not wish to cause trouble; only to educate, to inform people of the ignorance that has been thrust upon them. If you are willing to listen, the Lightbearer Maethos is holding sermons all day in the shrine...”

Clasping his hands together, the man looked as though he was on the verge of fainting. Akela, having caught up with us, let out a laugh deep enough to rattle the bones in his body.

“Lady Kouris, Northwood, we are moving on now, yes? You are not being taken in by foolish sorts with absent gods!” she said, and the man cringed with every word. “If you are wanting to laugh at something, I am sure there are people on stages, and they are telling jokes even better than this one.”

A passing woman nodded in agreement with Akela, but I wished she hadn't said anything. I wanted to go to the shrine, if only for curiosity's sake, silently hoping that Maethos' sermon would match what Claire had told me about the phoenixes. I'd promised myself I'd be more open with Katja, but I couldn't bring myself to speak up.

Thankfully, Katja said, “Actually, Commander, I'm rather interested in this particular period of history. I've heard all there is on the subject from the Phoenix Festival itself over the years; I should very much like to gain another perspective on the matter.”

Without another word, Akela bowed to Katja, allowing that she had a point, and though we all turned to the worshipper, he remained on the spot for a handful of seconds. When he realised that we were waiting for him to lead the way, having not expected to get this far with anyone, he mouthed
oh
, and almost tripped over his robes as he headed off.

The
House of Light
was an accurate description of the shrine; unlike the one in Orinhal, the building hadn't been made with its current purpose in mind. It was the only house on the street that didn't have a hint of orange or gold marring it, and though the brickwork had been painted white, the bright coating had long since faded, dulled by the elements, chipped around the edges. A sign hung over the doorway, more likely than not declaring the shrine's name, and the few people milling around, dressed for the Phoenix Festival, put me at ease.

It wouldn't all be robed fanatics.

“Here you are, here you are,” our guide said, holding the door open for us.

Katja and I entered, but when Kouris tried to duck through, the worshipper stood in the doorway, blocking her path.

“I am afraid this is, ah... a house of
human
worship,” he explained solemnly, no longer skittish, now that his ilk were close.

“
Human
worship?” Kouris asked, huffing indignantly. “And who are you thinking made the pane? Reckon we just crawled out from under a rock one day?”

“I understand that the goddess is responsible for all creation, but if one reads scripture, it is, um... quite clear that Bosma and all within it was designed to cradle human life, so...”

Kouris narrowed her gaze and leant in close, horns knocking against the door frame.

“A-and the ceilings are rather low,” he added in a hurry, bravery all but dried up.

I would've left with Kouris, not wanting to hear out anyone who would treat the pane in such a way, but Katja's arm was around mine. Akela put her hand on Kouris' shoulder, easing her back.

“Come, come. We are not wasting time on this nonsense. I am staying here and making sure that nothing is happening to Lady Kouris and Northwood, and you, you are going to the nearest tavern and bringing us drinks. It is a shame to be wasting the sunshine, no?” Akela said, and Kouris' ears pressed flat against her head as she backed off.

And so it was decided.

The house had been converted into two large rooms, one of which was locked to us. A handful of other people stood around the edges, all of them giving off the impression that they'd like nothing more than to bolt out of the front door. They looked away from me and Katja, from each other, not wanting to be recognised in such a place.

The walls were covered in murals, some more crudely drawn than others, all following a similar theme. Suns and stars made up the background, shining bright against the black, and in the very centre, a woman paler than the moon stood with her arms outstretched, flashing eyes almost closed.

There were other figures, surrounded by blazing comets, and I marked these as the humans Isjin had uplifted to godhood, whose names had faded over time.

Katja stared at the murals in awe, silently mouthing things to herself, barely holding back a smile. Whether she was taken in by the House of Isjin was beyond the point; Katja was already firm in her beliefs, and being here could only strengthen them. This was it. I'd let her know that I agreed with her. I'd find something in the sermon to cling to, something to justify saying what may well have been too much.

“To those who have torn themselves away from the temptations of the Phoenix Festival, I thank you,” Maethos said, silently stepping out of the other room. Unlike the other worshippers, her robes were red, and she clasped a candle of the same colour between her hands, carefully placing it on the floor, beneath the painting of Isjin. “I'm sure you have many, many questions, and I've no doubt that there are plenty that haven't yet occurred to you to ask.”

“I've got to—” someone from the back of the room mumbled, rushing out without another word.

Maethos arched her brow, looked around the shrine and fixed her eyes on me. It shouldn't have made my heart clench as it did. Only a few of us remained; it wasn't as though she'd picked me out by anything other than chance.

“Tell me: what do you know of Isjin?” Maethos asked.

“Um—”

What did I know of Isjin that wouldn't offend her was the real question. I could tell her plenty about Isjin's initial desertion of Bosma, and the way she abandoned Myros to the will of the Bloodless Lands, but I knew how ignorant I'd sound.

“I know about the Forest Within?” I ventured, and Maethos nodded, gesturing for me to continue. “When we die, we end up in the Forest Within the Forest. It's, um. A giant forest, that you wander and wander, and anyone you want to see – if they're dead, I mean – you just happen to come across them. The people who've seen it say that it's... peaceful, relaxing. Except for the ones who go to hell. Which is the same as the Forest Within, except you keep wandering, and never find who or what you're looking for.”

“Indeed. Although I should not separate the two concepts quite so radically. The Forest Within only becomes hell when the person you seek has no desire to meet with you; it may still be paradise, in all other aspects,” Maethos said. “But what do you know of Isjin herself?”

I wanted to say something, if only
not much, honestly
, but Katja patted me on the arm and took it upon herself to answer.

“Not quite as much as I should like to. There is, of course, the creation story. I believe that most know of the way Isjin dreamt the world into existence, from within the void,” Katja began, and Maethos nodded, ready to take over. Katja continued speaking. “When she awoke, the goddess discovered that a fearsome beast had fallen asleep on the edge of the void, stopping her creation from flowing out into the emptiness that existed before all else.

“And so Isjin seized the beast, allowing her dreams to breathe life into the world, and tore the creature in two. These two parts didn't wither, as she had thought they might. Instead, they became two distinct halves: the dragons and the pane. They took their place on Bosma while humanity was still young.”

“Quite. Very well spoken,” Maethos said, bowing her head. Katja's face reddened a touch, but she did what she could to remain modest. “This story is rather telling, today more so than ever. Think of what Isjin did with the beast, with the dragons and pane. She could have cast them back into the void, obliterated them wholly, and yet she chose to let them live amongst her creation. In her infinite compassion, do you truly believe that Isjin would allow the phoenixes, beings of pure beauty, to raze themselves from Bosma?

“The phoenixes did not die fighting, and we ought not to celebrate a sacrifice they never made. Simply put, the phoenixes were taken from us.”

Most in the room remained unconvinced, but Maethos was engaging enough to hold their attention. She paced as she walked, pointing to the murals, voice low and clear, as though she held some ancient wisdom.

“Taken from us?” I dared to ask.

“Taken by a time of war,” she clarified. “Taken by politics—not by necromancers.”

I curled my fingers towards my palms, hands clammy. It was just as Claire had said. I could only hope that my heart wouldn't beat so loudly that it deafened me to what Maethos said next. The other people flinched at the mentioned of necromancy and one person left, but Katja remained by my side, listening as intently as I was.

“Isjin shall not look kindly on us burning one of her Children,” Maethos said, slowly shaking her head.

“I—I heard that necromancers used to be Priests of Isjin. Back in Myros. Is that true?” I asked, doing all I could to ignore the way Katja had turned to face me.

“It is, indeed it is,” Maethos said, drawing closer. She was interested in me more than the others who remained, now that she knew I clung to some shard of forgotten knowledge. “The necromancers were held in the highest regard by Isjin, but without her guidance, they could only stray. They wandered down a path of darkness, though darkness was not in the hearts of them all, and now live in the shadows of what they once were. We can but pray for them.”

It'd been too good to be true. For a moment, I'd believed that within the House of Light, I'd find people who dared to see me for what I truly was. But even the most devoted, even those who drew scorn and mockery alike for daring to have faith, found ways to twist necromancy. Just because Maethos and those aligned with the shrine didn't wish to see me burn didn't mean that they were willing to see me as a whole person, either; they warped necromancers in their own way, to their own ends.

I'd come to the shrine to listen, to understand. I hadn't come to have pity forced upon me.

For once, I took Katja's arm.

“Rowan, what are you—” she began, eyes wide as she looked to Maethos, mortified by my lack of manners, but I was leaving, and I wasn't leaving without her. I pushed the door open, not waiting for the man who'd shown us in to scramble to his feet, and once we were awash in sunlight, Katja said, “... Goodness, Rowan. What's come over you, dear? If you were uncomfortable, you ought to have told me. I hate to think that I was responsible for subjecting you to things you didn't wish to hear.”

“No—no, it's...” I began, running my fingers through my hair, desperately trying to get a grip on myself, on my surroundings. “Katja, I just wanted to...”

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than Katja's hands were on my shoulders. That familiar sickness swirled in the pit of my stomach, and she met my gaze, eyes wide, pleading.

“Rowan, dear. Is there... what
is
it?” she asked softly.

I can't say whether I would've answered her or not. The words were on the tip of my tongue and I knew the tightness in my chest would never ease until I spoke them, but all I could think was that I'd promised Claire to keep myself safe.

In the end, I didn't have to look out for myself. Kouris and Akela had taken a seat on somebody's step across the road, and were barely through their first stein of ale. The moment they saw us, they rose to their feet, and Akela said, “Hah, I am winning, Kouris. I am knowing they are not lasting fifteen whole minutes! You are owing me another drink, and I am expecting it to be much better than this.”

Katja pulled away, but she didn't take her eyes off me. I could see her thoughts churning behind them, and I knew that I'd given away more in how I'd acted than I ever could by voicing my thoughts and fears out loud.

“Alright, alright,” Kouris said, slapping Akela on the back with a
thud
, “It's almost time for the lanterns. Reckon there'll be more than enough to drink over there.”

Kouris and Akela led the way through the gathering bustle of the streets, and as we headed back to Asos, Katja said nothing, did nothing; she didn't take my arm, didn't look at me. She only stared thoughtfully into the middle distance, two steps ahead of me all the while.

No place on Bosma was ever so busy as Asos Square, that night.

The first lanterns rose from the castle itself, and once faint, orange lights hung above us like fleeting stars, the people of Isin sent the rest up into the night sky. Street lamps and torches around the marquees were doused for the ceremony, and Kouris and I lit a lantern together, watching it float up and become lost amongst the lights.

Katja allowed Akela to send a lantern up for her, and we moved into the marquee. A band played at one end, far more upbeat than anything I'd heard the day before, and barrels of ale and wine ran the length of the dance floor. People flocked to the centre, some already drunk, others working their way towards that point, and Kouris, Akela and I sat on the benches strewn around the edges, while Katja accepted a red-haired woman's invitation to dance.

Akela kept an eye on her, but didn't watch too closely, and as I fetched us drinks, I was hardly surprised to learn that Katja possessed more grace than anyone else under the marquee. I made my way back across the dance floor without spilling a drop of from any of the steins, and when I returned, Akela and Kouris were chatting away like old friends. Akela roared with laughter, but I couldn't say why; the band and the dancers and those sat drinking around the sides contributed to such a cheerful clamour that we had to huddle close to properly hear one another.

“In the castle, we are only drinking wine that is older than I am, and we are all expected to take the time to appreciate it,” Akela said, holding up her second stein of ale, already half-empty. “But here, in the city, we are drinking properly! I am glad I am escaping all the formalities.”