Greythorne (Bloodleaf 2)

I made it to the hidden closet and opened it with soft taps, feeling around blindly until my hand fell upon the softened leather of the green book’s cover. I was stuffing it into my satchel when someone cleared his throat behind me.

One of the Stella’s priests was standing in the doorway, candle aloft in his hand. He was as slight as Cesare had been large, and he blinked at me, birdlike, from behind bottle-thick glasses.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I’m just retrieving something I left here. I don’t mean you any harm . . .”

The priest gave a sad, faint smile. “No, no. I know you don’t. Cesare spoke often of you, and very highly. You’re welcome to take whatever you need.”

I closed the closet door softly and then, head bowed, said, “I’m very sorry for what happened to him. I never wanted . . .”

“We know, child. Would you like to come see him? To say goodbye?”

I followed the priest and his bobbing candle down the transept hall and into the chapel. My departure from the coronation proceedings had brought chaos to the Stella: broken relics sat in darkened corners; pews were overturned and left at odd angles; abandoned ribbons littered the floor. Only the first row had been reset into its original position. It was now occupied by two more of Cesare’s brethren priests, heads down as they paid last respects to the fallen Father, whose body had been dressed and laid out for viewing on the same altar upon which he had died. There had been no time to fully eradicate the bloodstains; in the low light, they looked black.

Seeing him there made it all real.

I quickly blinked away tears as the priest took my hand, gently guiding me to the altar.

“It is a sad thing to have to say goodbye to our beloved mentor, Father Cesare, but take heart, child. He would have been glad to know he died in service of the Stella’s true purpose.”

I sniffed and tried to wipe my eyes on my sleeve. “Which is?”

“To keep the innocent from the hands of those who would hurt and destroy them. Everything here was built to thwart the Tribunal. They may be the judicial faction of the faith, but they do not impart justice anymore—if they ever did. No. They serve only themselves and their most vicious prejudices, questing for unmitigated power, all under the guise of serving the Empyrea.” He sighed. “Who can argue with a person who claims they’re acting under divine mandate? The greatest evils are perpetrated by those who forsake their humanity in the name of deity.”

A lump had formed in my throat. “I’m so sorry, Father, to have brought that evil here.”

He turned to one of the brass candelabras and removed a tallow candle. “Would you like to leave a light in remembrance of our mutual friend?”

I accepted the candle and approached the dais where Father Cesare lay in repose. I held the wick to the flame of another and, when it sputtered to life, settled it into the sconce, adding my tiny light to the dozens already burning.

“Empyrea keep you, Father Cesare,” I murmured, trying to look at his peaceful face and not at the dark spots of the altar and dais floor.

When I returned to the others, still waiting in the nave, I t

ook the priest’s hand. “Thank you, Father,” I said. “For letting me say goodbye.”

“We’ll be interring him in the crypt tonight, among our most revered leaders since Urso himself. It is an honor to be put to rest there and, for him, well deserved. Will you join us?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Father. I’m due on the outskirts of Greythorne within the hour. I’ve got people waiting for me.”

“Call me Edgar, child. And these are my fellows, Father Brandt and Father Harkness. Please, come down with us. I promise you will not be late for your rendezvous.” And he went to the side of the altar, tapping it in a similar fashion to the study closet.

To my shock, the four sides of the altar rose several inches and broke apart with a mechanical groan. The altar at the royal sanctorium in Syric had been empty; I’d used it to hide my books on witchcraft. This one was not empty at all; it seemed to house a network of gears and pulleys.

There were two bobbin-like fixtures, one on each side of the altar platform. Harkness and Brandt each took a handle and began cranking. As they did so, Cesare’s body began to slowly lower into the floor. When they finally stopped, I peered down into the altar cavity. Cesare was resting serenely, hands clasped, face bathed in a rectangle of soft candlelight from above.

“Come along, now,” Edgar said, motioning for me to follow him. “We’ve got to take the long way down.”

* * *

The crypt was accessible through the base of the bell tower, where the winding staircase continued down past the floor through another hidden door. The stairs were incredibly steep and narrow. “Thank goodness we didn’t have to bring Cesare down this way,” Brandt said. “I might have considered giving him a sky burial instead, like I’ve heard they do in the highlands on the continent.”

“Cesare would have enjoyed the prospect of vultures feeding on his spleen, to be sure,” Edgar replied fondly, “but I imagine hoisting him up on a platform in the mountains would have been a feat of engineering too much for the likes of Urso himself.”

“What creature do you think came to ferry him into the after?” Harkness asked. “My guess would be a coon cat, one of those with great tufts of hair and a ponderous tail that looks intimidating, but who mostly likes to sleep in the sun.”

“A black-and-white bear, like they have on the continent,” Brandt replied.

“No,” Edgar said. “One of the northern dogs, with a coat of white and massive paws. He had one of those when he was growing up; the more connection you have with an animal on this side of the borderland, the more likely you’ll be greeted by it on the other.”