XXV. Descension

Soren awoke.

He did not quite feel rested, yet he no longer felt that weight upon his mind and body before he had fallen asleep.

The room was dark now, and Cybele sat next to him on the bed with that beating light in his hand.

“How do you feel?” asked Cybele, whose dark eyes were yet soft and warm.

And God did not speak.

Soren sat up. At his side was the bloodied tattered gown, upon which a white lily lay.

And next to the gown, a knightly sword in a crimson scabbard lay as well.

“I… saw you speaking to her in the parlor-hall. I heard everything. I’m—I’m sorry,” said Cybele, turning downcast.

“You did not speak, as I requested,” said Soren, as he stared at the sword. “It’s all right. I would have wanted to share that with you, after everything.”

Cybele smiled, nodding, as tears welled in his eyes. Soren smiled, rather tiredly, in turn.

Soren placed his hand upon the gown, feeling the fine wool, the crusted bloodstains, through his fingers. He folded and softly placed it down again.

He reached for the sword, stopping his hand. It hovered over the sword, but Soren did not tremble.

And he took hold of it, put it upon his lap, felt the leather of the scabbard, the hardness of the hilt.

He furrowed his brow, shutting his eyes, but no longer felt sickness, or discordance in his thoughts. He turned to Cybele, who tilted his head slightly.

“Is… that hers?” Cybele asked.

Soren nodded. He took the lily, gently, and stood up, tying the flower to his waist.

And he tied the sword to himself as well.

“Soren…?”

Cybele stood with him, folding his hands together, shoulders turned inward as he looked up musingly at Soren.

And Soren saw at that moment that Cybele was, after all, but someone who was only now ceasing to be a child; but more than that, for Cybele had proven himself capable more than once when Soren was not—there was duty, and there was love.

“I hope to never use it,” said Soren. “Are you capable with swords?”

“Not really,” said Cybele. He sighed. “My family wouldn’t allow it. As it was, I had to beg to be trained with daggers.”

“That’s quite all right,” replied Soren. His body briefly glowed white, as did Cybele’s.

“It’s time to leave,” said Soren.

“Quite,” said Cybele.

They walked out into the parlor-hall, which was also in darkness, approaching the entrance to Soren’s home. There was a plain wooden door now, closed.

“If I may ask,” began Cybele, as Soren reached for the door. “I think I understand what happened when I saw you under the influence of the cloister. I… can only say that I know what I see about you. And I remain unchanged about that.”

Soren opened the door, felt a cool breeze again as a spiral stairwell presented itself. He felt the oncoming of tears.

“But… did you dream later?”

Soren summoned light to his hand.

“I did. And I saw her. We—came to understand each other. Completely. And that is all I could have asked for,” he said. “I can tell you more about it another day.”

Another day. Indeed, he thought.

“Whenever you’re ready, I will hear you,” said Cybele.

Soren smiled again.

“Thank you,” he said.

For your faith, which I must yet match.

They entered the stairwell, and began their descent.

                                                                   ***

“Little One feels… restless,” said Cybele, as they reached walked through a long, dark hallway. Thankfully free of impish shadows, Soren thought.

“I feel it too,” said Soren, who felt the sword’s weight on each step. He sighed deeply.

“Curiously, I just feel it in my own body. But nonetheless…”

“Only God knows how far we must yet travel. I think I’ve truly had quite enough of this place,” said Soren.

“Well, we can only go wherever Little One takes us. But she is hurried in her direction. I think I see it.”

“See what?”

“The end.”

Soren’s body tensed, but for a moment.

He recalled the metal blade, and its coolness upon his neck.

He recalled her hand in his, and against his head.

He recalled his exegesis. He did not yet remember exactly what he had written in detail, but knew its thesis, the doctrine it called upon. What does it mean to live by the sword, he had asked.

And his answer remained unchanged, but for the unspeaking maw of God before him.

So, he thought, I, too, will walk through the maw, silent or no. This, he was certain of, for the flame yet lived as long as he would, as Cybele would, as Elestie would—

I remain afraid. So be it.

And he felt the absence of Ranae’s flame, needling his heart. He gripped the sword, tightly, while he brushed against the lily.

Never again.

As they turned a corner in the hallway, an imp, utterly black and devoid of any features, sat up immediately from lying upon the ground.

Humans? Here? With a phaeos? Important, very important. It danced as it spoke through thought to Soren.

Cybele had already drawn his dagger, resolute, yet somewhat shaken.

No, no! These shadows are our home, we hail from Aelshire. Telene takes good care of us. But I know a quicker way to your destination, yes, even the phaeos doesn’t know, and the imp stood still, waiting, while Soren’s body glowed white and the imp jolted suddenly as if it had been slapped. Little Phaeos, please, I’m sorry...

Soren sighed, released his guarded consciousness, and the imp imparted its knowledge. It turned toward Cybele.

“Are you sure of this?” asked Soren. His body glowed white again.

“Ve—very well,” said Soren, mildly embarrassed at a crude joke the imp had also imparted.

The imp nodded excitedly, then fell flat upon the floor, before it curled up and, apparently, fell asleep.

“That is… a lot of windlasses,” said Cybele.

“Then we best keep moving.”

They thanked the imp, who was now unresponsive, but for its tail, which perked up briefly.

They reached the end of the hallway into a tower and stone bridge, replete with a white mist which was illuminated by soft white light above and beneath them. To the side there was a balcony below them, several feet away.

Soren sighed loudly, jumped onto the balcony, breaking his fall with a roll. He waited for Cybele, who hesitated before leaping, and Soren caught him, let him down as they faced another dark room from the balcony.

And into the unspeaking maw they went.