XX. The Library of Antinomia

Soren found himself in another descending spiral stairwell.

He saw Cybele from behind, hands folded together in front of himself. He saw Maria, the faint reddish hue beneath her skin, her straight silvery hair bobbing as it brushed against her waist. Sophia’s void-black hair reached but her shoulders. Both the Sisters’ coifs were loosened at the back of the head to let their hair loose, while their crowns were covered.

He would not forget what they looked like.

How could he? After everything they had been through.

And yet the woman in white was upon that hill, and the cocoa-skinned woman in red and gold metal armor had held his hand in that plain white room all that time ago. He could not remember their faces clearly, details muddled in the pits of his memories.

He hadn’t the faintest idea how much time had passed since his arrival here, in fact. But that did not matter to him anymore, either.

And the letter sounded violently in his mind.

Thou hast been forsaken…

So said the abomination in the Nave.

For, all at once, Soren knew now of the scheme to destroy him.

Yet, he did not know of the veracity of the alleged crime.

And Normaine’s body lay under the sheets, pathetic and bloody and cold as ice and Cybele’s hands were drenched in gore—

And the silence of God echoed throughout him.

And he balled his hands into tight fists, and hoped his fingers would draw blood, and he clenched his teeth and furrowed his mouth most fiercely—

“Why? Why have we been forsaken?”

The Sisters turned toward Soren immediately with slightly bewildered expressions, their eyes turned black.

“Stop! Turn away! I cannot stand the sight of those damned eyes!”

And Soren desperately wished for something he could destroy, smash to bits, tear apart—against these stone walls, he might break his hands.

And he sighed, blocking his vision by rubbing his face with his hands before turning the rubbing into a hard grip. Then he let his hands fall to his sides, and saw the Sisters had turned away again. Even Sophia, he thought. Maria was now downcast.

Cybele moved to his side, and held his hand, squeezing it gently.

And while Soren did not have the will to speak, he squeezed Cybele’s hand in turn.

And he thought,

These people are truly all I have. Perhaps not later, and perhaps they would not always be here—

So be it. I yet live, and so do they, and time moves with us, and us with time.

Soren felt the dried blood on Cybele’s hand, and he did not recoil, for he could not, and would not.

And he felt his anger abate—at least, for now.

***

“I remain at peace with those eyes of yours, but considering what has happened—”

“But it is necessary. You understand this.”

Soren and Sophia spoke to each other as her beating light revealed a wooden door with curved brass handle. Thin veins of gold were carved along the edges of the door in a whimsical, winding pattern; across the top half of the door were depictions of small, flying humanoid creatures with thin, small, insect-like wings, made of the same lined gold.

“Sophie. The Library.” Maria spoke with a confident tone.

Sophia sighed.

“But of course. The procession has been so mangled from its usual path, too, that we haven’t even the chance to speak to Cybele. Though at this point, that is rather inevitable.”

Cybele raised his head, darkly tired.

“We do what we must,” said Cybele, still holding Soren’s hands.

Soren turned toward Cybele, hesitating before he nodded.

“Indeed,” said Sophia. “We are truly in the depths of the Cathedral now—such places that even Isabeau has not visited for over a cycle.”

“And what is a cycle?” asked Soren. He would hardly have a chance to ask another question of this sort.

“A very long time,” said Sophia with a slight grin as she opened the door.

He sighed quietly. I suppose levity, he thought, cannot be helped either. He looked again at Cybele who seemed to forget himself briefly as he gazed upon the room, raising his eyes, parting his mouth just slightly.

The room within was decorated as would be fit for a noble’s mansion, with tall bookshelves, ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling perhaps several dozen feet above him, polished oak flooring and a set of stairs to his left, which led to more bookshelves he could see from where he stood. In the center of the room was a wooden desk and a plain chair upon an emerald-colored rug, occupied by a naked, muscular man with the top half of his head missing, scribbling away at parchment. Stacks of books and paper on both sides of the desk stood tall like barricades.

Behind his exposed brain, which glowed a bright starry blue, emanated a reverberating wave of white twinkling stars in black dust, continuous before fading into the air.

Soren was shocked, but not that shocked. At least most of it looked like a normal man.

He turned right and saw a skeleton lying in a cushioned chair several feet away, and a faint white glow from a hole within its skull.

“Is that who I think it is?” said a high, lilting voice with the tone of a young girl.

Soren, Cybele, and the Sisters all turned to the skeleton, with the glow now hovering in the air beside them. A small feminine figure with glittering wings buzzed around them; Soren saw a trail of sparkling golden dust behind her. The features of its body and face were starkly blank, yet he could make out the hair, long enough to exceed the length of its entire body. Soren estimated she—it—could fit snugly within the palm of his hand.

If this is what they mean by reprieve, thought Soren, then perhaps it will be enough, as he watched Cybele approach the small flying creature with wonderment in his expression.

For these, too, must be creatures of God—somehow, from some place.

And what were they doing here?

What were we doing here?

“Let this not turn into another tea party,” said Soren quietly, almost growling as he leaned toward Sophia.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake. We won’t be here long,” replied Sophia.

“Sophie is not that careless, Soren. Greater trials yet await you—rest assured, you’ll have no time or place for complacency,” added Maria, darkly.

Soren began to think, came upon his angering thoughts, and felt ashamed of his earlier outburst. That remains a private conversation, he thought.

For if God will not speak, then Soren will seek Him out.

Sophia moved toward the creature which now rested upon Cybele’s open palms. Maria yet stood beside Soren.

“I apologize for earlier. Upon the steps… that was unbecoming of me,” he said to Maria.

“No need. We are at a point now where thoughts must rise, not only because they are inevitable, but because the advent of your procession’s end nears. As does Cybele’s,” she replied.

“You yet remain a young man yourself, Soren. Twenty-five years of life is but a mote of stardust, even relative to your own. The world above the firmament might say otherwise, but we know this personally.”

Soren had never divulged his age, so he assumed it must have “leaked” from his mind some time ago. He nodded, breathed deep, and almost felt relief—

No, he thought. Not yet.

Settling his thoughts he looked around again. The man with a half-missing head did not move, aside from the scribbling, but up to the bridge of his nose was preserved.

All the while he saw Sophia speaking to the flying creature, who now sprawled out upon Cybele’s head.

And he saw the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Cybele’s mouth.

He decided he would not disturb that smile.

“Let us speak to that… man. He seems important.”

“Oh? How could you tell?” said Maria, mildly sarcastic.

Soren chuckled but once.

He felt Normaine’s blood between his fingers as they walked over. He could not forget that, too.

“These creatures… spoken of in myth and legend, but they are—”

“Real. Yes. Presumably of God’s creation, too,” said Maria.

“And why are they here? What sin did they commit?”

Maria bit her lip.

“That… depends on many factors. The dominion of man is imperial by nature, and man is not always kind. Nor, however, are the fae.”

Soren furrowed his brow; he recalled nothing of this in recent or even ancient history.

All the more to remember and learn, he supposed.

They stood in front of the strange man’s desk, now. The man continued to write as he did before. Soren saw that his eye sockets were missing, too.

“You went through our memory cloister,” he said, in a dark, deep, ethereal voice.

“Well, we did not have much of a choice,” replied Maria. “You may already be aware—”

“The other fae have alerted me to that woman running amok. Yes.”

Soren saw Maria become slightly tense, before she sighed quietly.

“Leshwin. This is Soren.”

Leshwin did not seem to react to Soren’s presence.

Maria cleared her throat. “He is one of our lambs, along with a young lady named Cybele, who is over there playing with Little One—”

“Go on. What is it you want?”

Soren began to feel tense. He found himself staring at the white stars upon the black dust, which covered almost the entire crown of his… brain.

“Sophia and I would know what you have heard about the state of the Cathedral, as you have been told.”

“Omen. Terminus. That Isabeau sinks the realm with her terrible light. We do not foresee much time before ruin becomes total,” he said, resuming writing.

Soren felt a chill down his spine.

He would see that woman again, too.

“S—so I’ve heard as well,” said Maria, tightly folding her hands together.

“There are answers to this problem. But I am in no place to choose.” Leshwin began scribbling more furiously. “What of these lambs, then? The procession requires that woman’s blessing.”

“We will… handle that part ourselves. We seek passage through the Abyssal Cathedral.”

Leshwin stopped writing, became perfectly still.

“That is not part of the procession.”

Maria’s brow became stern. “Nor is our visitation here, is it now?”

She placed her hands upon the desk, leaning over it.

“You know how the Cathedral expands and builds upon itself as it sees fit; it is a miracle you could find this sanctuary just within reach of Sister Sophia. And—”

She paused. Her countenance furrowed too, eyes moist with oncoming tears. She shut her eyes, breathed deeply, before opening them again.

“We seek out our Mother. As we know well… she must be part of the procession. We saw her light in the halls right outside Sophia’s study, too. The Abyssal path is the shortest one we have.”

Leshwin sat in silence. He set down his felt pen before standing up, looking between Maria and Soren.

“I cannot guarantee safe passage,” said Leshwin. “You understand this.”

“I do, and of course Sophia as well,” replied Maria.

Leshwin now seemed to be looking only at Soren, who shifted nervously.

“This one yet needs further mending. And the lady seethes with agony from where I stand.”

“Almost—nothing has gone as planned,” said Maria. Her voice had become quiet, shaking slightly.

“You can see my thoughts?” asked Soren, feeling stalwart, now.

“No. But your emotions leak, just as the lady’s do. The turmoil is palpable in you both. And I have no wisdom for you, so do not ask,” he said, turning toward Sophia and Cybele as they came over with the creature.

“And here is Leshy!” said the creature, flying excitedly around Sophia and Cybele.

And Cybele looked slightly less tired, after all. But the dark circles beneath his eyes had not receded.

“Now, now, Little One, quiet down,” said Sophia, who sat upon the desk as Leshwin, whose mouth was stuck in a stern frown, looked toward her.

“I trust that they have passage,” said Sophia.

They?

“Wait,” said Soren. “Just so I have a summary of the situation: not only is Isabeau’s ‘blessing’ part of our procession, do you mean for us to travel separately now?”

Cybele’s expression turned grim in an instant, swiftly turning to Sophia. Little One landed upon Cybele’s head, lying down with her chin upon her hands.

“You have political matters in your world, yes? Well, so do we,” said Sophia.

“I… only regret that this has come so suddenly,” added Maria. “And for once, Sophie, you could afford to be a little less risible than usual.”

Sophia pursed her lips before she sighed.

“My dear Sister doth remain correct. I know it is entirely inappropriate to leave our lambs in the state that they are, but I trust one thing,” she said.

“They have each other! For a long time yet,” said Little One.

Cybele wrapped his arms around himself, expression turning dour.

“Precisely,” said Sophia, smiling warmly. “In fact, Little One, you can accompany them, too. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Oh, I would love that,” she said, taking flight in the air immediately above them before gliding upon the twinkling stars and black dust Leshwin’s brain.

“And what about this old dotard?” said Little One.

“Unlike some of our kind,” said Leshwin, “I will always retain my sanity—that is my curse.”

“Oh, enough with the histrionics! Always, always been this way, haven’t you?”

Little One flew and rested upon Soren’s shoulder, and he flinched in turn.

“Mhmmmm… you’re all knotted up here, too, aren’t you?” she said.

“An—anyway, what does this all mean?” asked Soren, whose shoulder twitched slightly as Little One patted his neck down.

“The path required out of the Cathedral needs preparation. We must find Carelia and Annabelle, too,” said Maria.

“Quite,” said Sophia. “And Little One has been here for many cycles—she has even accompanied me on past processions. She knows where to go from here.”

“I’ll be inside your flesh husks, your minds, but I’m a mindful lass, you needn’t worry,” said Little One, as she suspended herself between Cybele and Soren.

Soren shook his head slightly. “What—”

“Perhaps not so suddenly, Little—”

And, in the span of a second, Little One’s body tore itself into two halves, down the middle. The halves shook hands with each other before boring into the necks of Soren and Cybele.

Soren gasped suddenly. He expected pain, yet felt a comforting warmth instead. He felt a hole open in his neck briefly before it sealed shut.

A white glow enveloped the edges of his body briefly, before fading away.

“Take care of her, and she will do the same in return,” said Leshwin, who strode toward the expanse of wall in the back of the room, painted green and speckled with a gold diamond pattern throughout. He lightly touched the wall with the tip of his finger, and the wall rippled outward as if made of liquid, before a large rectangular space of the wall, reaching the ceiling and several feet wide, faded into total blackness.

And there was no light beyond the blackness.

“Little One can provide a few spells of her own. But they are a strain on your gentle bodies, so please use them wisely,” said Sophia.

Maria sighed loudly. “She can neither speak to you nor hear your thoughts. Do rest assured, we know this is rather—”

“Yes, yes it is rather sudden,” said Soren.

Cybele remained silent. Soren looked toward Cybele before turning to the Sisters.

“Onward you go,” said Sophia, taking Soren’s hand, while Maria took Cybele’s, toward the black hole in the wall.

“And there is but one thing to know about the Abyssal rooms,” said Maria.

“Never stop moving,”

“Where to next?” asked Leshwin.

“The Chapel. We’ve spent enough time in the Library such as it is,” replied Sophia.

And Sophia pulled Soren close, and embraced him. After a brief pause he embraced her in turn.

“We’ll have our debate on metaphysics yet,” said Sophia. She released him, kissed his forehead, and bowed lightly.

Soren felt the kiss burn. Such an intimate gesture had felt as if he had never received such a thing before.

And the Sisters embraced them both, sharing their kisses accordingly.

“We will meet again. Farewell, and remain close to each other,” said Maria, whose eyes had turned moist again.

As Soren and Cybele crossed the threshold into the darkness, Maria stepped forward.

“One more thing. Try casting light from your hands.”

Cybele looked upon the open palm of his hand briefly before a beating light came about.

Soren did the same, focusing intensely, letting his imagination course through his mind like blood from a fiercely beating heart—

For this, too, was of God. So it was said.

And the light was summoned forth.

“You’re both quite adept at this. At least you were trained before…”

Maria’s voice trailed off, briefly, before she spoke again.

“A strange place indeed, isn’t it?”

Maria smiled at Soren as tears ran down her face. She looked toward Cybele, nodding, before she bowed lightly to them both.

Terminus, Soren thought.

He looked toward the darkness ahead of them. Beneath them, the dark felt solid like earth, but there was nothing there, either.

He desperately hoped—

And that was the last thing he could do.

Leshwin walked up to the space in the wall, touching it again, and the light began to fade away, and the last thing Soren saw Leshwin nodding at him with that same, stern, solemn frown, before he was left in darkness.

“Onward,” said Cybele quietly, who drew Gauvain’s dagger, looking ahead, steadfast—

Dark circles and all.