Chapter Three

Lyssie and Roede lived in a little stone cottage in a row of little stone cottages, with the same roofs, the same windows, the same wrought-iron fences. If it weren’t for the giant number eleven on the side of the building (”So people will stop confusing us for House Aileen”), and Mother’s hydrangea bushes out front, Roede wouldn’t have known which house is theirs.

It was easy enough to get to the church - east down 74th street and north on first street- the wide cobblestone road that split Evalystine in half. As he neared the church, the trees, wreathed in reds and yellows and oranges, thinned out until they gave way to Lake Lithev. If the stories were to be believed, Evalyse Herself lived under the surface of the water. Roede, like many children, used to stick his head underwater to see if he could find Her, but all he ever found were some angry sisters.

In the center of the lake, connected on all sides by long marble bridges, was the church, incomparably glorious and radiant. The light shining off the steeples and spires burned itself into Roede’s retinas, as though it were too holy to be looked upon by mortal men. Or rather, too gaudy. The doors were golden. The window frames were golden. The words on the front declaring to the world that All Life is Sacred were golden. The arches were, naturally, marble and the windows stained glass riots of red and orange and yet more gold.

At least their tithes were going to a good cause.

The interior was much the same - smooth tiles and gilded arches bathed in multicolored light. Roede walked down a rich carpet between rows and rows of pews that seemed to go on for miles. Twice a week - sometimes more - every citizen of Evalystine piled into this room to hear the word of their goddess, straight from someone else’s lips. On that day, the seats were empty. The only other people around were the young ladies in white reading scripture or lighting candles or wiping down the pearly columns. They didn’t make a sound as they moved through the cavernous space. There was something reverent, almost holy, in the silence. Or perhaps it was the novelty of being able to hear himself think for once.

The girl, whose name he still hadn’t bothered to get - directed him up a curving set of stairs, into an area he’d normally be yelled at for entering. He made it about halfway before a terrible sight had him stopping in his tracks, blood going cold. There was a young man, dressed in full white-gold armor, descending the same set of stairs. He had the sort of handsome face that begged to be punched, and the sort of scowl that dared someone to try.

Aren wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be in the church, and he wasn’t supposed to be in Evalystine. He should have been on some goddess-forsaken battlefield somewhere basking in infinite praise and glory.

“Halene,” Aren said, but it sounded like one of his usual insults. He’d called Roede everything from useless to coward. Roede’s personal favorite was “son of a heretic”, which got points both for bringing his mother into it and for pissing Lyssie off so much she threw a pie in Aren’s stupid pretty face.

“Aren!” It came from above, and Roede craned his head to see another young man leaning over the second-floor railing. Detter. It would have been easy to dismiss him as Aren’s lackey, if he weren’t so disarming. Maybe it was the dimples. They made him look... harmless.

Aren didn’t look at him. He was too busy giving Roede his usual sneer. “Goddess preserve us, if this is the best they can do,” he said, and stormed the rest of the way down the stairs.

“Ugh, he’s really mad now,” Detter said. “Hey, Halene, is your bakery still open? Those little cakes with the strawberry jam always cheer him up, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Roede stared.

“What?”

“What are you doing here?”

Detter shrugged, and his fluffy scarf slid down one broad shoulder. “The same thing as everyone else, I guess.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Honestly, I don’t know why they’re being so secretive about it.”

Detter gripped the railing in both hands and flung himself over it. He landed gracefully on both feet a couple of steps ahead. Roede’s shoulder gave a jealous sort of twinge.

“Sir Velen!” The girl who’s led him here cried in horror. Her face went the same color as her dress. “Please refrain from climbing on church property.”

“My bad.” Detter didn’t look remorseful at all. He smiled as he threw an arm over Roede’s shoulder, as though they were old friends. When he spoke again, his breath ghosted over the side of Roede’s neck. “Wanna hear a secret?”

“I don’t know, do I?”

“You’re funny, Halene. That’s why I like you.”

“Sir Velen, I don’t think-“

Detter waved off her concerns. “It’s fine. He’s here now, so he’s gonna find out anyway, right?”

“Find out what?”

If they didn’t stop speaking in circles, Roede was going to do something drastic. Like tell Lyssie. Assuming she was still speaking with him, that is.

“Here’s the thing,” Detter said. He turned them and led Roede the rest of the way up the opulent staircase. “Rumor has it that the Drest have surrendered.”

“Surrendered?”

That couldn’t be right. Surrender wasn’t an option. As long as a single Drest drew breath, they would never know peace.

“Well, that’s what they want us to think. The truth is they are preparing to raise their god from the dead.”

“You can’t be serious.”

It’s not that Roede didn’t believe Adomas would return. It was written in their scripture, foretold by Evalyse Herself. One day, the God of Death would rise again to lay waste to their world, and only a chosen warrior of the Goddess of Life could stop him. When they did, Death would forever be banished from their land, and the people would be granted eternal life. The way they were always meant to.

But that was supposed to be hundreds or thousands of years in the future. It should have happened long after Roede and Lyssie were dead and cold in their respective tombs. He wasn’t supposed to worry about whether they would survive Adomas’s divine wrath.

“I’m hurt that you think I would joke about something like this.”

“Okay, but what’s that got to do with me?”

“Come on, Halene. Surely, you even you can put two and two together.” When Roede didn’t answer, Detter sighed. “Well, Adomas’s resurrection is only one part of the prophecy, right? We need a chosen warrior to defeat him. That’s why they’re bringing everyone here to test them.”

Contrary to popular belief, Roede wasn’t a moron. He could figure some things out for himself. Like the fact that Detter and Aren must have been tested themselves. Except that Aren left angry, and they hadn’t yet told Roede not to bother, which could only mean...

“Aren failed.”

He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but Detter only laughed. “He sure as shit did. You should have seen his face, too. I wish I’d had a camera. Not that I blame him for being shocked. I mean, I think we all expected it to be him. Greatest warrior of our generation and all.”

Is that what they were calling Aren now? There were plenty of better ways to describe the other knight, such as pompous asshole and self-righteous prick. He was a bully who’d never been told what he was doing was wrong - had been celebrated for it, even. Funny how his parents had been around to teach him right from wrong, but never bothered. Meanwhile, Roede hadn’t needed anyone to tell him not to hold people underwater.

He was weird like that.

“Were you tested, too?”

“Oh, yeah. Luckily, I dodged that particular spell.”

“You’re happy that you weren’t chosen?”

Once word got out, the holy knights would fall over themselves to earn the goddess’s favor. And to reap the honor and glory that came with it.

“I just know that I’m not the hero type. Guys like you and me, we’re better off staying in the shadows and letting guys like Aren soak up the spotlight. You know what I mean?”

Roede did not know what Detter meant, but he nodded anyway. They reached the top of the stairs, and Detter released him at last. Roede almost missed the closeness until he remembered that he and Detter were not friends.

“I better let you go. Goddess willing, you’ll be back with your fiancée soon.”

“Thanks.”

Detter laughed, and his entire body shook with it. “Sorry, it’s just that you look so miserable when I know a dozen guys who would kill to be in your shoes. That’s the irony of it, I guess.”

Roede wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that meant. “I guess so,” he said, feeling like he was signing his soul over to Adomas Himself.

“Chin up. It’s gotta get better, eventually. Anyway, I’ll see around. Good luck, Halene.”

It didn’t sound sarcastic, but he wasn’t being entirely sincere, either. When he said good luck, he didn’t mean I hope you’ll be chosen. He meant you won’t be chosen, but hopefully you’ll get out of here soon.

That was fine by Roede. When he was very young, he might have dreamed of honor and glory, of wielding that holy blade against the forces of darkness. But then Father had died, and Mother... well, she hadn’t taken it well. Even before they’d lost her, she hadn’t been the most attentive caretaker. So, it had fallen on Roede’s shoulders to make sure Lyssie was fed, that she was dressed, that she made it to school on time.

There was no time for dreaming after that.

The church girl cleared her throat. “Please, follow me.” Her determination to see her job through, even in the face of Detter’s meddling, was admirable.

Roede did as he was told. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she led him down a brightly lit hallway lined with yet more gold and stained glass.

“Is what Detter said true?” Roede felt compelled to ask, though she hadn’t contradicted him.

“His phrasing was rather... colorful, but yes. The facts remain the same. The Lord of Ruin will rise again, and it falls on us to stop the calamity.”

“But how can you be sure?”

The look she gave him was both confused and horrified. Maybe she was wondering if blasphemy was hereditary.

“The will of the goddess is absolute,” she said, and Roede knew he would never get a better answer than that. The church loved these sorts of half-answers, even if it was the divine equivalent of because I said so. It must work better for them than it ever had for Roede.

They came to a set of double doors at the end of the hall, carved with an intricate, looping pattern. The girl tugged on the golden handles, grunting with the effort until they parted. Inside was an office with a long stone desk piled high with papers in haphazard stacks. The high ceiling was entirely glass, and the mid-morning sun bathed the room in golden light. Behind the desk, there was a painting of a woman with flame-red hair brandishing a golden blade. Under her foot was a crumpled form with his face obscured. From his exposed rib cage spilled a mass of white flowers with blood spattered on the delicate petals.

There weren’t many images of Adomas available, but he looked the same in all of them. Faceless, rotting and monstrous.

“Your Holiness,” the girl greeted the woman seated behind the desk. “I’ve brought Sir Halene.”

The woman seated behind the desk raised her ancient head. The wrinkles in her face multiplied more than Roede would have thought possible as her lips turned into a frown.

Well, shit. If he’d known that he would be meeting the Papess today, Roede would have worn nicer shoes.

“Halene,” Papess Janna said to herself. A flash of recognition passed over her face, and Roede wondered what she was remembering about his family. Was it the strange and sudden way he’d lost his mother? Or was she thinking of his own shortcomings?

Whatever passed through her mind, she didn’t comment on it. With a disturbingly neutral expression, she gestured for him to come closer.

“Thank you, Sera. That will be all.”

The door shut with a heavy thud as Roede approached the desk. Papess Janna stood, and in her hands was a sword. The white sheath was lined with gold, and the hilt glittered with rubies. Even without being told, Roede knew what it was. Cortainne. The godslayer. The only thing in the world capable of killing Adomas.

Papess Janna held it out hilt first. “Pull it out.”

Roede must have heard wrong. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she said, as though she were tired of explaining this.

Fair enough. Neither of them had time to waste on this. The gemstones dug into Roede’s palm as he wrapped it around the hilt and pulled. There was no fanfare, no sign of anything divine, as the blade slid free in one smooth glide.

“So, um, are we done now?”

The Papess stared up at him, eyes wide and jaw slack. “You can’t be serious.”