Conversations in the Cathedral

After leaving the tavern, Lavenza walked back towards the main gate, then southward up the cobblestone steps that led to the acropolis.

From below, it was difficult to see what was up there. The acropolis was shrouded by a ring of juniper trees sitting behind iron fencing. It was only upon reaching the final flight of stairs that a grand cathedral came into view.

The cathedral, and the rest of the acropolis, had stood for millennia. Lavenza remembered her childhood travels to Centa Muis, which included a tour of the chapel and the surrounding citadel. Back then, she was no different from an ordinary school child on a field trip. She was often scolded by the headmistress for wandering about without permission.

But it was hard not to lose oneself. A garden of pavilions surrounded the cathedral, each with their own distinct color scheme and fauna. In less than ten paces, a sycamore grove could become an orchard arboretum. The cathedral by comparison looked bland with its pale white limestone walls and slender capitals. It was built in an era when craftsman could not find a compromise between structural integrity and beauty. A row of carved gargoyles and dented dragons sitting above the parapet was all that could be said for the cathedral’s aesthetic sensibilities.

The guards at the front gate were dressed differently than the soldiers below. Below, the guards needed vibrant red paint to stand out in a crowd. Up here, the soldiers wore shining silver chestplates and hid their faces behind shut bascinets.

Without saying a word or showing off her royal seal, Lavenza was ushered into the gardens. There were people there sauntering about the pavilions. The apostate crossed just a few of them along a path marked by discolored seashells. They looked rich with their satin dresses and wool scarves, but a thief or beggar could find proper clothes and look the part if they knew where to look.

The unmistakable mark of wealth was the aroma. All Lavenza smelled were light fragrances, soft soap, notes of sandalwood, warm spices, common attractions for the nobility. There was nothing too gaudy that would suggest that a perfume had been donned for the purpose of masking poor hygiene.

At the end of the path was a double door leading into the cathedral. Once again, the guards there took one look at Lavenza and motioned to each other to open the gates.

The entrance hall was dim. There were few lanterns inside. Most of the glass window panels were bolted to the roof, and the evening sun had long fallen to the horizon. On the walls to her left and to her right, Lavenza spotted oil paintings of heroic deeds and gold artifacts resting inside glass cases. 

A middle aged man wearing ceremonial white garbs stood at the altar at the front of the cathedral. His hands brushed over a trio of bronze reliquaries. When Lavenza approached, the man looked up and folded his hands into his oversized sleeves.

“Lavenza,” the man greeted.

“Pontifex Calderon,” Lavenza bowed.

“The empress mentioned that you might return soon,” said the man. “You know, I heard that the snowstorm in the northern mountains has abated. My understanding was that the storm was conjured to hide the imperial magical experiments in the region. Quite a strange turn of events, don’t you think?”

“It is as you say, pontifex.”

Pontifex Calderon smiled.

“And have you heard, Lavenza?” he asked. “With Empress Seline’s blessing, I’ve been put in charge of religious affairs on The Opposing Shore.”

“I congratulate you, pontifex.”

“Oh it’s hardly something to be excited about,” the pontifex snorted in a manner unbecoming of his station. “Coming up with new additions to scripture, sometimes a whole new religion even, takes time. Half the world’s mythologies concern the formation of the Endire, and the other half is pure nonsense. People will want to know, how did the church not see the end times coming?”

“These aren’t the end times,” Lavenza reminded him. “There is still salvation across The Great Sea.”

“Yes, of course. My mistake,” he replied. “Say there is no Endire on the other side, Lavenza. What if there are only moons? What if after all these years of sun worship, we are cast into a world of twilight? How do you convince religious adherents that the Aparthian Church still has any real power then?”

“Is that necessary, pontifex, that the church retains power?”

“It’s why I have a fancy title, Lavenza. Of course it’s necessary,” the pontifex pouted. “People need something to believe in, especially now, when nothing else seems believable.”

“I suppose,” Lavenza shrugged. “Well, if there are only moons, pontifex, you could become moon worshippers. Or, you could predict that in ten thousands years time, the Endire will return so long as we pray and worship accordingly.”

“This is what I loved about your Menuan texts,” Pontifex Calderon grinned. “Every prediction is tens of thousands of years away. How long do we humans live? Sixty, maybe seventy years? How many lifetimes before a revelation needs to be realized? You could edit the texts a few hundred years in and no one will notice.”

“Are you allowed to make these sorts of jests, pontifex?”

“I am now, now that I’m formally in charge of editing our own texts to accommodate the apocalypse,” he laughed. “I think I’ll take that little Menuan trick. Yes, yes, perhaps the Endire will return in ten thousand years.”

“I figured you were a more spiritual man, pontifex.”

“I am a spiritual man,” the pontifex frowned. “Akashan, Lavenza. Texts are physical, maybe spatial objects, but they are not spiritual. What is spiritual is in here.”

The man thrust a fist against his chest.

“It’s in your beating heart,” he pointed at his temples. “And it’s in your mind, how you think and how you perceive the world. Texts can always change, Lavenza. People of all stripes. Well meaning people. Cynical people. If they were in my shoes, they could change our religious texts however they liked. But what they can’t change so easily is how people feel. That’s what the Aparthian Church should concern itself with, Lavenza, not the texts or the rituals, but with how people feel.”

“A true man of the people, pontifex.”

“I’m being serious, Lavenza.”

“As am I,” she replied. “Where is she?”

Pontifex Calderon gestured behind him.

“She’s in the inner sanctuary.”

“I wish you luck on all your prodigious revisions, pontifex,” Lavenza said, “and I wish you safe passage to The Opposing Shore.”

Lavenza and the pontifex exchanged bows. The pontifex had gestured to a staircase at the back of the hall. Taking it brought Lavenza to a narrow corridor that ran beneath the cathedral. It was a short path, staffed with more lanterns than the main hall. At the end of the shaft, the path unfolded into another garden. Night had fallen on the acropolis. Lavenza must have spent more time with the pontifex that she had originally thought.

Unlike the outer pavilions outside, however, there were no trees in this new garden. The variety of flowers also left much to be desired, as if the gardener here was too scared to handle more delicate plants. A glass dome separated the flora from the fauna outside. There was an unnatural stillness, no sound of songbirds, no beating of crickets.

Instead, there knelt a fair woman on the far side of the garden. She tended to a field of tulips and roses and hummed a children’s song. She wasn’t dressed for gardening. Her long pink sleeves and egg white dress shoes were soiled with dirt. A rocky crust formed where her pale knees touched the earth.

When Lavenza approached, she stopped three dozen paces away. She said nothing, folded her hands behind her back, and lowered her head. The woman noticed her minutes later.

“Lavenza!” the woman gasped. “How long have you been standing there?”

The apostate fell to one knee.

“Empress Seline.”