Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

She tugged a second time and the door opened easily, as if held by an unseen butler. She looked about the vestibule but saw nothing except the poor boxes and rows of intention candles, a few of which flickered in the wind when the door opened. She stepped inside.

The air in the basilica was heavy and menacing, as if it objected to her presence. She took a step and felt a burning sensation within the toe of her boot; the defiled ground did not want her on it any more than she wanted to be there. Even moving through the air itself was a struggle. Rhapsody steeled herself and pressed on, heading for the portals that led into the main section of the basilica. The central sanctuary was visible at the edge of her vision through the doors. She walked silently to the end of the vestibule and stopped before entering the nave.

The figure in the dark red robe at the altar did not turn. “Come in, Your Majesty,” he said, a slight chuckle in his voice.

The air around her changed ever so slightly with the demon’s invitation. It was as if the invisible bonds that were holding her back had been released, the tainted ground suddenly willing to accept her footsteps. Rhapsody hesitated, unsure about walking on the desecrated ground that was the benison’s domain, then, in the absence of an alternative, stepped into the main part of the basilica.

It was vast and dark. Chandeliers of brass-bound oak hung from the towering ceiling, burning with the light of thousands of small, ineffectual candles. The basilica was austere, with benches of unadorned wood lining the nave. It was also windowless; the only aperture was the great opening in the ceiling beneath the lofty bell tower, the access to the wind that spiraled around the carillon. It rose in the darkness above the central altar.

A long balcony lined each of the four sides of the elevated section, led to by a circular staircase at each corner. The benches there were padded with dark fabric cushions, probably for the comfort of the hindquarters of the wealthier contributors among Bethe Corbair’s faithful.

Rhapsody stopped midway down the aisle and looked up to the sanctuary where the benison stood, still with his back to her. The slate floor of the basilica led up to polished marble steps, similar to the ones in Sepulvarta but dark, with veins of white and silver running through the stone. The steps ended in the semicircular apse at their top, the back wall of which was carved from ancient mahogany in rising columns lined with carefully placed holes, a natural pipe organ. Rhapsody could tell that the wind had not reached the back of the sanctuary in many years.

Finally the benison turned away from the plain stone altar and looked out across the basilica at her. She could see his eyes, even as far away as she was, gleaming in the half-light.

“Welcome, my dear, don’t stand on ceremony; approach, by all means. I have tea steeping for you here on the altar. When your two friends come they can share the pot as well.” He laughed softly at the look on her face. “Of course I was expecting you. I haven’t entertained one of Oelendra’s trainees in several decades, so this is a rare treat for me.” He turned away for a moment, then turned back, holding a teacup, which he extended to her, just as he had in her dream about the Patriarch.

In response she drew her sword. The blade flashed in the darkness of the church; the flames burned angrily, billowing up the length of Daystar Clarion like a brushfire.

The benison laughed. “Ah, yes, Daystar Clarion. Well, I am suitably impressed. I have to admit to being a little shocked at seeing you with it in Sepulvarta that night. None of Oelendra’s other young champions were ever entrusted with it. How ever did you pry it loose from her craven grip? None of the others knew who or where I was, either, until it was too late. Is that why? Did she give it to you because you were able to discern my identity?” He fixed his gaze on her, the whites of his eyes darkening to red around the edges. “Well, no matter. I assume you are aware that none of the four score or so of her noble knights ever returned to her, hmmm? They are some of my most prized possessions, if you will forgive the play on words.”

Rhapsody shook off the hypnotic effect of the sweet voice and came slowly down the aisle. A cold rage was building in her soul, and she tried to shake that off as well; it was interfering with her concentration. She was directly beneath the far side of the opening in the roof below the bell tower when his words made her stop again.

“But, then, you are intimately acquainted with the last one who tried, aren’t you, my dear? Gwydion must have thanked the stars for you. Who would have believed that one of the Three would take pity on him, human wreckage that he was, and take him to her heart? To her bed, eh?” The benison shook his head and chuckled softly, then looked back at her; even halfway across the nave Rhapsody could see him wink mischievously at her, the leer remaining in his elderly eyes. “Well, my dear, thanks to you, now he and I have some things in common. I give thanks for you, too; if not for you I would never have been able to confirm he was still alive, never would have found him again.”

Rhapsody closed her other hand around the sword’s hilt and raised it until it was pointed at the benison. Lanacan Orlando laughed aloud.

“Oh, please do, my dear, come; try and take me on my own ground. It really will be amusing, if patently unfair to you. Surely you are not that much of a fool, are you? We have, after all, stood in these places before, one of us at the altar, the other in the back of the basilica, helpless to do anything. But this time the roles are reversed, aren’t they, Your Majesty? It is you standing on my ground this time.”

“This is God’s ground, Your Disgrace.”

Rhapsody lifted the sword above her head and spoke its name. Blinding light lit the bell tower and spilled into the nave, the legacy of the daystar for which the weapon was named. A moment later a silver trumpet blast rocked the basilica, a clarion call that shook the carillon tower, setting the bells to ringing frantically in an earsplitting cacophony. The benison merely smiled. “Well, now, that was impressive.”

“Actually, it was a signal.”

The benison shrugged. “Too late. By the time the townsfolk get here you will be mine, and apologizing for disturbing them so rudely. My turn, now. Come to me.”

The static air of the basilica shifted against her skin. Heat, deep and primal, enveloped her, then seeped through her clothes and into her bones, making her heart beat faster, her blood run hot. The demon’s words of thrall, sweetly spoken in the benison’s soothing voice, caressed her, stroked her soullike a mother caresses a child.

Rhapsody shook her head again and clenched her teeth until her ears rang. The lush voice tickled against her eardrums, the warm words wrapping soothingly around her neck, sending a shiver, a silver thrill, down her spine. She closed her eyes, trying to throw off the effects of the demon’s words.

No, by the One-God , she thought to herself, anger mounting. I’ll not be your thrall. I am stronger than you, you piece of filth . She summoned her will, shook her head once more, violently, and the warmth of the demon’s thrall shattered like brittle sugar and dissipated into the crackling air. The red heat of anger flushed through her.

“I will come to you on my own terms,” she said evenly, struggling to keep her voice steady. “And when I do, I will drive my sword into your miserable heart, rip it from your body, set it on fire, and watch it shrivel into ashes. I will snuff your twisted essence and burn your evil soul in the flames of elemental fire as it was before your kind blackened it.”