XXVII. The Cathedral

Soren became aware of his own rapidly beating heart.

His body glowed white as the arm struck his shield and he skidded across the stone on his feet. The hand holding the shield burned with pain again—

He drew the sword.

He saw Sophia rising in the air with a white, roiling, blinding spear of light and she threw it, blast of air reverberating outward and Soren’s body glowed white as he was nearly knocked to the ground.

Isabeau turned to Sophia, narrowly dodging the spear which cut the air with a shriek, and the spear stopped in the darkness beyond the platform, held by a gangly hand throwing it back, toward Sophia—

Soren kept moving.

The spear combusted with a bright white light, Sophia flying backward slamming into the white wall of the Cathedral’s foundation and she fell from the small crater in the wall, and Soren did not see her moving.

“No, no, this is not our purpose, this is not what we do, why, Mother…” Tears escaped Maria’s eyes as she fell to her knees.

Then Soren saw Cybele.

Cybele rushed forward with Gauvain’s dagger drawn at the moment Isabeau’s attention came upon Sophia—

An arm shot from the darkness toward him, pinning him against the ground by the neck as the dagger flew from his hands. He drew the silver dagger and stabbed the arm and it would not penetrate the gangly flesh.

“I take no pleasure in this,” Isabeau said, walking up to Cybele, “but your punishment must yet be harsher than mere death.”

Soren winced and kept moving.

“Mother, please...”

Isabeau’s black sclerae, gradating into gray, looked as if boiling into her white irises as she pointed at Maria, incanting under her breath.

And Maria convulsed and cried out, her words melting, searing together in a quivering mass of prostration, shame, despair. She fell to the ground, curled up like a fetus, trembling—

“Maria!” cried Cybele.

“You shall reflect upon your revolt against God,” Isabeau said as she—

Soren saw Sophia rise, her white eyes flaring with light as her coif fell away, and she saw him.

From behind Isabeau, Soren rushed forth with his sword, knew where her heart would be and aimed and all time and space narrowed to the pointed edge of the blade.

And Isabeau turned, her eyes boiling, her countenance mute of expression, and Soren held the shield to his side knowing an arm would approach and then many more after that and then—

Soren heard a thunderous crackling boom, saw a blinding bolt of lightning strike Isabeau, his body glowing white as his sight and hearing were nearly overwhelmed—

Soren was panting, eyes wide with shock, as the sword pierced through Isabeau’s chest. Where her heart would be. Black-red blood ran down the blade.

The hand around the sword’s grip trembled.

But he would not release his grip. Not yet.

Isabeau’s eyes ceased boiling as she stood over him. Soren looked up at her, and saw her smiling as she fell to her knees, sitting back against her lower legs.

“Even now, God does not speak to me,” she said.

And her pale white hand gently held Soren’s hand which gripped the sword, and she said,

“That is enough. All things are of the maw of God, all a matter of course. Make of that what you will.”

And she shut her eyes, looked downcast as if in prayer—

Another spear of light, solid and quiet, shot through her head, protruding out of her forehead. The spear grew dull, cracked, and turned to dust.

And her hand fell from Soren’s own as she collapsed in her smile and closed eyes.

***

Cybele sat up as Soren ran toward him.

“Are—are you all right? Any cuts, fractures, broken bones—”

“I’m—all right,” said Cybele. “She did pin me down rather hard. My back aches. Narrowly avoided my head against the stone, too. But I’m all right. Thank you, Soren.” He turned toward Maria, sat a moment before rising and scurrying toward her. Soren followed.

Sophia looked at them as they approached.

“You are both well enough, as I thought,” she said. “That is good.”

She was kneeling beside Maria, who lay flat against the ground, no longer curled up. Soren saw her weakening breath, struggling eyelids, yet found no wounds upon her.

Soren and Cybele also knelt beside her. Cybele looked frantically over her body.

“I—I see no wounds—”

“They very well may not be visible,” said Soren, and he began pulling up her tunic, pressing a hand upon and across her body.

“Please forgive me, this is necessary—”

Sophia rested her hand over Soren’s.

“You are very kind, Soren,” as she held and directed one his hand away. Soren looked at Sophia—

Her hair was disheveled. There was dirt upon her face. Her eyes glowed white, gently. At times she winced as she moved her body.

And she was tired.

Soren withdrew the other hand. He took Maria’s wrist, felt her pulse—felt it slow, becoming slower, steadily.

“Wha—what is happening?” Cybele’s pleading eyes pierced Sophia’s own.

Sophia softly ran her fingers against Maria’s cheeks.

“A spell she forbade us from using,” said Sophia, quietly. “Even I could not find a way to learn it.”

Maria’s lips began to move. Sophia propped up her head, laying it upon her lap.

Soren’s thoughts were yet inflamed—

What was it? Why? What else can I try? Can I do nothing? Were the organs themselves bruised? But I would see that, feel that, what does Sophia know—

“Ah…” Maria began to speak, shattering Soren’s thought stream as he sharply turned to look at her.

“My… little lambs…”

She looked up at Sophia.

“My… dear… Sophie…”

“Yes, my love,” said Sophia, caressing Maria’s face. “Such stubborn strength that you can still speak. More than I can provide.”

“Ah… no…”

Sophia chuckled.

“Your soul is stubborn, too. She did not take that away from you.”

Soren fell upon that word: soul.

And he released her wrist, took her hand instead as he watched the glow recede from Maria’s white eyes. Cybele hesitated, clenching his teeth before he began to weep, then softened, taking the other hand.

Tears welled, ran from Maria.

“I know, I know…,” said Sophia, “but. ‘Tis I at your side. I always will be.”

“Oh… Sophie…”

Sophia smiled.

Maria’s eyes rolled toward Soren and Cybele.

“… lambs…”

“Yes. I will take care of them. I promise. I’m no less stubborn.”

And Maria looked toward the towering white wall of the Cathedral.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s not going anywhere, either. I will take care of it.”

Maria smiled, softly. She squeezed the hands of Soren and Cybele before weakly raising her own to Sophia’s cheeks.

She held them as Sophia kissed Maria’s cheek.

And Maria’s hands fell, and the light in her eyes faded, and her chest rose no more. Sophia closed Maria’s eyelids.

“There was nothing either of you could have done,” said Sophia, still caressing Maria’s cheeks. “It’s all right.”

“B–but—” And Cybele turned downcast.

“I… don’t understand,” said Soren as his voice shook, and he began to weep alongside Cybele.

“She tried to rip her spirit away from her. It is a taxing spell meant to destroy the foundations of the mind by preying upon its vulnerabilities. There was nothing you could have done.”

Sophia continued her caresses.

“But… she appreciated the effort. As I did.”

Sophia looked up at Soren and Cybele.

“I know this is sudden, but neither of you have the time to grieve. I apologize.”

“I… I understand,” said Cybele, wiping the tears from his face. “Can you… at least, is she still… here?”

“She is, but we do not commune with the dead. Terrible things can happen. She is resting now.”

Soren turned away from them as he thought of Ranae. He shut his eyes, taking a breath, before he rose.

“We… should be going now,” he said.

“Yes,” said Sophia, looking up at Soren with a warm smile. “And do not be intimidated by the angel. Well, if you two can help it,” grinning instead.

“I still cannot guarantee anything, but… I know it won’t turn either of you away. And Little One will remain with you to illuminate the dark.”

Soren nodded, wiping his own tears away. Cybele knelt to embrace Sophia, who shut her eyes and smiled in turn.

And she took Soren’s hand, caressing it.

“Take care of each other, and may God be with you.”

Soren tensed for but a moment before smiling through his tears. He nodded lightly.

He began toward the darkness, Cybele at his side after recovering his daggers, came upon the sword in Isabeau’s corpse. He stood for a moment, staring at the sword, her body—

He pulled out the bloody sword, sheathed it, and continued walking.

After some distance, they heard a faint voice from behind them, lilting and pleasant.

They turned and saw Sophia, weeping as she sang what could have been a lullaby, tightly holding Maria’s head.

And they turned back away, for Soren did not want to intrude, and he knew Cybele would not want to, either.