Chapter 336: A Lack of Repentance

Third Apostle Izas’ face did not twitch.

Only a light nod acknowledged what he had just heard, but when he turned toward Rioran, the young man’s heart thundered.

“What is this, Rioran?” the ancient priest asked. “The Chosen saw you? Confess what has happened, child.”

For a wild moment, an urge to lie surfaced, almost overpowering the sandy-haired man. He’d been trained to lie, and he’d told Catherine and Stanwic only that he’d been caught by Cedric, not the details of his ill-fated meeting with the Chosen.

He could spin the story and shift details to lessen the brewing disaster.

But one look at Izas’ face, banished all such notions.

The ancient man’s eyes were endless pools, deep and full of mysteries. Rioran could not even imagine a lie that they couldn’t see through; throughout all the young spy’s training, who was it that guarded this ancient order, serving as messenger between layfolk and the First Apostle? Who was it who’d been there, watching the training of Uldar’s servants since Rioran was a child?

Izas.

He knew every trick that Riroan knew and much more.

What would a lie do? …only make things worse.

With that one look from Izas, Rioran’s resistance crumbled.

He bowed his head and sought mercy from the ancient priest. “Forgive me, Third Apostle Izas. Forgive me.”

“Do not ask forgiveness of me, Rioran,” Izas said. “I cannot give it, for it is not mine to give. The harm of your actions will affect Uldar and his purpose. It is in his hands where forgiveness lies. And it is his mercy that you must seek, if you have done him wrong. Now…what have you done, my child?”

Rioran swallowed, closing his eyes. “I…in my arrogance…I broke away from the others.”

Reluctantly, he began the tale of what had happened in the foreigners’ encampment. His decision to go his own way—with all the justifications he could muster—how he’d crept through the encampment, entered the research tent and what he had discovered there.

“Hmmm,” Izas mused. “And so you used the blessed dust of passwall to pierce their wards. Ironic: to use the remains of our enemies to learn more about foreigners who seek to learn about the remains of our enemies.” Izas rubbed his white beard, a wry smile twisted his lips for a heartbeat. “And how were you discovered?”

“I…” Rioran said. “I was on my way back from their research tent and I was feeling proud that I’d avoided their sentries…that’s when the Chosen came upon me in the dark. He completely eluded my senses.”

“You were preoccupied with what you’d just done…this narrowed your focus.” Izas suggested. “And though the Mark of the Chosen grants grace to him in a lesser measure than the Mark of the Champion, I am told that this generation’s Holy Chosen was already a warrior and man of light steps even before his blessing. It is little wonder that you were taken off-guard.”

“T-thank you for your understanding, Third Apostle,” Rioran stuttered, a wild hope rising in him. Izas’ voice had been nothing but gentle and understanding so far. Some of his words had held a note of reprimand, but none of his tone or body language spoke of anger, or even disappointment. Perhaps the young spy would come out of this without punishment.

“Continue.” Izas waved for him to resume his explanation.

“He’d felt the divinity of the dust. And so I was caught and interrogated.”

“Aaaaaahhh, indeed that would make some sense.” Izas frowned. “The dust is subtle, but with divinity absent from the confines of their encampment and the young Holy Chosen’s gifts being what they are, it would stand to reason that he would feel it. And then what did he say, child?”

“He warned me not to interfere with the Generasians and—”

“Wait.” Izas held up a hand. “The Chosen of Uldar demanded that you not interfere with the foreigners?”

For the first time, another emotion had entered the Third Apostle’s voice: surprise. Stanwic and Catherine also looked at Rioran with raised eyebrows. He’d never revealed this much of what had actually happened to them.

“Yes, holy Third Apostle,” he said, then repeated Cedric’s reasoning and warning.

Izas’ frown deepened. “So it seems he is prioritising the aid these foreigners provide…and saw you as a threat to that. Hmmmm. This information is vital. And what did the other Heroes say?”

“They did not speak to me, Third Apostle,” the spy said. “I do not think the Chosen told them what had happened.”

“I see. And did any of the foreigners know what had occurred? Were you confronted? Spied upon?”

Rioran searched his memories, past paranoia and panic-filled days returning in a wave. His thoughts were of the research team, the other wizards, the guards and the Watchers of Roal.

Did any of them seem to pay closer attention to him?

Had anyone shown signs of suspecting him?

Nothing extraordinary came to mind…except maybe…

“I’m not sure if someone had knowledge of what I’d done,” he said. “He showed me no suspicion openly…but there was a young wizard at the encampment. He was trained, that was clear. He moved like a warrior and shifted his body language to mirror those he spoke with. Our eyes met briefly and to be honest, in some ways, he reminded me of us layfolk of Uldar. But I don’t think he paid me much mind after our initial contact.”

“Your initial contact?” Izas asked.

“When our eyes met he seemed to…read me much like how we read another person’s body language.”

“Who was this?” Catherine asked. “Oh wait… do you mean that tall one with the building stones? It’s true, he did move like a warrior, but I didn’t notice him paying you any more attention than anyone else.”

“Mmm, the Watchers of Roal moved like warriors too, and they weren’t the only ones in the encampment who did,” Stanwic said. “I noticed the big young man myself, but he looked more interested in the Heroes than in you or any of us, Rioran.”

“True…it’s probably nothing then, but…he seemed to recognise my training from my body language,’ Rioran said.

“Hm,” Izas mused. “If he paid no attention to you afterward, that is fine. I’m not surprised that the Generasians would bring along those who know how to handle themselves. They are in a warzone, after all.”

“Yes,” Rioran said. “Well then, I’d have to say that no one other than the Chosen knew what I’d done.”

“Then likely the Chosen did keep what he discovered to himself. A relief, but still a complication. One that might need to be resolved in time,” Izas said, his voice gentle…almost too kindly.

Rioran didn’t know what to make of that.

“And what did you learn about the foreigner’s experiments and activities, my children?” the Third Apostle asked.

“Well, they held a demonstration of the tests they’d done for us,” Catherine jumped in. “We saw what they’d been doing and what they plan to do…but, they left out any mention of experiments with golems. So, if what Rioran found in their notes is true, they’re not sharing that part.”

“I see. And what did they show you during these tests?” Izas asked.

Catherine and Stanwic recounted the tests in detail, leaving nothing out, no matter how minor it seemed. With their trained memories, they could describe the spectacular demonstrations like they’d just witnessed them.

Izas nodded slowly when they were done, seeming to contemplate what he’d just heard. “Powered machinery. Devices. Magic. Hmm….I see. It also sounds like they have the building blocks for a terrible weapon.”

“Yes.” Stanwic’s lips tightened and a troubled look touched his face. “It was unholy.”

“No, I would not be so quick to pronounce it as unholy, my child,” Izas gently chided him, shaking a finger. A kindly smile took his lips, and he looked like a village elder guiding a grandchild. “Uldar commanded us to learn and teach the people of this land. We need not fear discovery, cowering under the shadow of ignorance like barbarians. Magic is dangerous, yes, but it can be a tool of holy light when wielded in the proper ways, and by the proper hands.”

“I suppose our armies and clergy could use such a thing,” Catherine suggested. “We use dungeon core remains with Uldar’s blessings to make use of some of the properties they had when they were whole all the time.”

Rioran thought of the dust of passwall. It mimicked—with limitations—a dungeon core’s features of altering floors and parting walls to let spies slip through most barriers while leaving them whole.

“And the Heroes wield blessed weapons that contain dungeon core remains,” Izas pointed out. “The generasian’s professor speaks truth: chaos essence is difficult to acquire and can only be gained by those who wield the mightiest magics, or those who’ve been entrusted with the greatest of divinities. I daresay anyone with the power to call upon chaos essence with any degree of reliability already wields deadly power in their own right.”

He chuckled. “They would not need such a mixture to show the world whether they were bane or boon.”

Relief flooded Rioran. ‘This is a good sign. Izas is showing humour, perhaps he holds no lasting displeasure with me.’

“Still, I am sure King Athelstan, Court Wizard Errol, and High Priest Tobias will be most pleased to gain such a weapon against the Ravener. Excellent work, my children. Stanwic, Catherine, you may return to the village and rest. You’ll be free from your duties for a fortnight starting immediately. Use the time to contemplate, read the holy book, and share good meals with your loved ones.”

Stanwic and Catherine bowed as one, then stood before Izas. “Thank you, Third Apostle,” they said in unison.

Silently, they slipped into the hall, easing the door shut behind them.

Rioran didn’t move.

He had not been dismissed.

His nails dug into his palms.

Nerves threatened to turn his stomach.

“Rioran, do not be afraid,” Izas said, looking on him with kindness and concern. “Gather a few provisions and venture to Achellon’s Face. There, climb the cliff and find the Shrine of the Second Disciple. Pray. Call on Uldar and reveal your heart to him under the open sky. Hide nothing and say what you truly feel. If you feel—in light of our conversation—you have wronged our god, then repent. If you do not then utter no false repentance. Own what you did.”

“And then?” Rioran asked.

“Then Uldar’s reply will be revealed to you.”

###

“You heard all, Eldin?” the Third Apostle said, though he seemed to be alone in the chamber.

Grrrrrrnd.

The sound of stone scraping on stone came from behind him: signalling a slot opening in the wall behind Uldar’s statue.

“I heard all of it, Third Apostle,” Eldin’s deep, quiet voice said.

“Your assessment?”

“No threats yet…though the Chosen might need to be watched. Threatening a servant of Uldar for the sake of foreigners…he had his reasons, but reasons like that can make a person all twisted up inside.”

“Agreed. We will watch, then, and let this play out for now…” the Third Apostle said.

Nothing he had heard appeared to be a threat to the cycle, and might even benefit Thameland. Surely Uldar would be pleased to see his mortal kingdom prosper.

“I take it I’m to make sure Rioran’s…on the right path?” Eldin asked.

“Please do. And thank you, my friend.”

“For the glory of Uldar, Third Apostle.”

###

With a grunt, Rioran pulled himself up the last bit of rock face and onto the cliff. His hands burned; Achellon’s face was not an easy cliff to scale, and none of the layfolk looked forward to ascending the jagged bluff.

Still, this was a holy place.

Close to the edge—some ten feet from him—stood the petrified form of a woman: the remains of the last Second Apostle of Uldar, still frozen in her final act of defiance against one of the deadliest of the Ravener’s servants.

What sort of servant, Rioran didn’t know. He was not privy to the account; the battle had taken place many cycles ago. But, what he did know with certainty was that he was here to kneel before the Second Apostle and bow his head in prayer. He wasted no time in doing so.

He searched his feelings, contemplating what had occurred in Izas’ chamber. When he had reached Uldar’s Vale, he was covered in shame.

But had things not gone well?

He’d offered valuable information to the Third Apostle and only received a slight chiding. There was no punishment. There was no pain. In essence, had he not served Uldar well? He’d simply shown initiative. That business with Cedric was unfortunate, but Izas had said it could be resolved.

So, all in all…had he done anything so wrong?

“Oh, holy father Uldar,” he prayed in earnest. “I come to…ask for your boon. Weeks ago I took initiative on your account. I have come to see that it was the right decision. I hope  you are pleased with me and I hope to show such initiative in the future.”

Falling silent, he waited for a sign of Uldar’s answer.

He wished he could feel divinity like the Chosen, the Saint, or the priests, then he might better feel Uldar’s will. Of course, if he could feel divinity—and were very, very sensitive to it—he might have been saved—

“Wrong conclusion, I’m afraid,” a quiet voice said from behind.

Rioran tried to turn, reaching for his dagger.

A meaty hand closed over his mouth. He felt rough callouses on his skin. Then a blow struck his elbow, shattering it.

His muffled scream was sealed in by the hand as his assailant dragged him backward. Rioran fought to kick but—

Crack.

—another blow shattered his kneecap.

‘Uldar!’ he cried in his mind. ‘Uldar save me!’

Even as his prayer went up, he was being dragged to a jutting stone. There was no more surface to tread upon…but his captor kept forcing him backward.

Until…

A cold feeling of confinement restrained him as his terrified eyes strained to look down. The stone…it was consuming him. He was being drawn in!

Rioran struggled.

Rioran prayed.

Rioran wept.

But in the end, Rioran silently disappeared into the stone like a drowning man into quicksand.

On the Shrine of the Second Apostle, the only thing left moving was a soft, gentle breeze.