XXVI. The Mother of Saints

Soren and Cybele passed, and passed through more of the Cathedral’s halls, chapels, naves, towers, transepts, libraries, dormitories—

Along the way, they occasionally came upon amber light in the distance, in rooms they turned away from. In one such room, they saw some form of that wrinkly abomination in the Livian Nave, yet humanoid in shape, staring at them with its voids for eyes, grinning widely without teeth—

And they ran.

Yet most of the Cathedral remained bathed in darkness and white light. So, Soren thought, Isabeau’s corruption has not reached all parts of it, as, in retrospect, he knew from the peace of Aelshire.

Soren wondered if this was spreading. He thought it more likely than not.

He clenched his fists, released them before pressing onward.

They entered a windlass, pulled by chains as the rest of them were, and began another descent.

“How long, now…” Cybele said.

Their beating lights flickered briefly as the unsteady wooden platform trudged downward.

“I’ve long given up on keeping track of time,” said Soren, sighing.

“I suppose that’s for the best,” said Cybele. “But what of the Sisters?”

“I have faith they will meet us soon enough,” said Soren.

“I suppose, too, that’s all we have now, isn’t it?”

Cybele groped the silver scabbard at his waist, wearing a solemn expression.

“We have our own limbs and minds, too.”

From this moment, he thought, and to the next.

Cybele nodded slightly, and Soren held Cybele’s hand and squeezed it before releasing, taking hold of the grip of his sword.

The platform halted. Immediately in front of them was an open entrance which arched above them, three to four stories high. Soren saw the light of dim candles within the next room, set upon and illuminating a set of two plain, long wooden tables and several chairs on each side. The floor and walls were made of smooth, charcoal-colored stone. Everything was covered in dust.

Beyond the tables he saw another open, arched entryway in the wall, through which there was a dim, white light revealing a descending hall.

At the table closest to them he saw Sophia and Maria sitting together, who both turned to look at them with white, bright eyes.

“At last—the triumphal return,” said Sophia with a grin, her head leaning against her hand, elbow resting on the table.

Maria rose swiftly and embraced Cybele tightly as he and Soren entered the room. Cybele embraced her in turn. Maria released Cybele with a wide smile and tears in her eyes, before turning toward Soren.

“I’m quite all right—”

And she embraced Soren, before Soren held her in kind. He could not help smiling here, either.

“Thank God you’ve returned,” she said, releasing Soren.

“There was much left for us to do yet,” replied Soren.

“And we’re ready to continue, as ever,” said Cybele.

“I can see that,” said Sophia, as the rest of them approached the table. “The procession has been fruitful for you two, in spite of everything.”

Sophia’s eyes turned black in a blink, and her expression became stern as Soren looked at her eyes, saw she was staring at his sword. Maria, whose own eyes had turned black, stood near Sophia now, staring at Soren’s sword as well.

Some time passed. Soren and Cybele both waited, at ease. Soren thought of Isabeau, his encounter in the Abyssal Cathedral, yet held his tongue for now.

“Indeed,” said Maria, with a smile, “it has.”

“But neither of you are done. Not yet. Come,” said Sophia, rising from her chair as she and Maria led them to the hall beyond the other arched entrance. Soren looked round, saw the door from which he presumed they entered at the far end of the room, dozens of feet away. The door let off light as if it were steam, solidly white.

“Sisters only,” said Sophia, who had turned and saw Soren and Cybele gazing at the door.

One more mystery I don’t need to solve, thought Soren.

They descended a stairwell in the hall, the white light steadily growing in brightness. At the end the light became overwhelming as they stepped through another entryway, Soren and Cybele shielding their eyes. As their eyes adjusted—

They saw they were outside, in open air, standing upon a circular, grayish stone platform extending hundreds of feet in every direction. Soren looked up at the white brick wall on his right-hand side, towering above, countless stories tall from where he stood. And to his left—

The black mountain, enshrined by that golden halo at its summit, was in the distance, floating upon the sea of unbroken darkness beyond the stone platform where the white light from above began to fade.

“Your final destination lies over yonder,” said Sophia, gazing at the darkness, “at the summit of Mount Krag.”

“That is the only way to return to your world. You will meet an angel, thereafter beginning your ascension,” said Maria.

“I cannot guarantee the angel will grant you passage,” said Sophia. “But I am confident in the evidence as regards releasing you here.”

“Cathedral orthodoxy bids a Sister travel with you both, but…” Maria’s voice trailed away.

“We have matters to attend. It’s quite all right, Maria,” said Sophia, who linked her arm with Maria’s. “A change of institutional order is inevitable, and we will face it together,” she said, kissing Maria’s cheek.

Maria shut her eyes for a few moments, sighing quietly.

“But we haven’t even spoken about our lambs and their cloisters,” she said, looking at Cybele.

“Alas, indeed. But, at the least, I find our lambs are quite independent, don’t you?” replied Sophia, who smiled at Soren and Cybele.

“We will do our best,” said Cybele. “We always have. Please don’t fret about us.”

Soren began to speak, before he noticed a figure in the distance.

He saw a void-black tunic and veil approaching them.

Soren began to move.

He noticed the others had stopped speaking, and soon after they began to follow behind him.

Meeting at the center of the stone platform Isabeau stood, a dozen or so feet apart from the others. All unmoving.

All quiet.

Sophia and Maria, their eyes having turned white, moved ahead of Soren and Cybele, standing stalwart. Sophia’s expression became severely stern, while Maria’s became pensive and worried.

The darkness gaped ahead of where Isabeau stood. She grinned. “Such expeditious processions as yours are certainly in violation of my edicts. What of this, Sister Sophia?”

“Mother. ‘Tis a relief to see your concern for our lambs after all this time,” said Sophia, with an unrelenting glare.

“Oh, but we have met already. Did they not recount this?”

The Sisters’ eyes widened as they turned sharply toward the lambs.

“What?” exclaimed Maria.

“So they did not,” said Isabeau. “Though that no longer matters. Unruly lambs who depart the Cathedral without my blessing require the Sacrament instead, for my mercy is truly boundless. The second death would be more apt, after all.”

Isabeau, whose hands were folded, let them down to her sides.

Sophia prepared bright white light in the hand she had burned. Soren clenched his teeth before gripping his sword in turn, Cybele following with Gauvain’s dagger.

“Do you not agree? Maria?”

Maria looked downcast, holding herself. She began to shiver.

“I…”

She spoke no longer as Sophia turned her attention back to Isabeau.

And Isabeau turned to Cybele. “What of the gelded murderer of his own kin? Do you believe you have been absolved?”

Cybele became downcast too, yet only for a moment, raising his head again. His expression became plaintive, anguished, but his glare did not relent.

Isabeau’s grin vanished into sternness. “Such impertinence for a sinner such as you. You do not deserve the mercy of the Sacrament,” she said, before she turned to Soren. How, he thought, did she know these things?

And she smiled, softly.

“And you. I’ve been watching you the most closely. I became curious after our brief meeting, hence I chose not to further intervene until I could meet you here. You have certainly changed.”

She folded her hands again.

“Your wife perished alone for your flight. The silence yet prevails. I presume you did not forget. What do you make of this?”

Soren’s grip tightened, and his glare did not relent.

“I have indeed taken my faith into my own hands,” he said, as he glanced at Sophia, who was watching him.

Isabeau nodded, releasing her hands.

“That is wise. I must continue to do the same,” she said, as Soren drew his shield and an old rotting gangly arm shot out of the darkness with its black fingernails for blades toward him.