XVIII. A Light in the Darkness

Soft white light emanated from their bodies as Soren and Cybele ascended a tall grassy hill. Behind them, far in the distance, they saw that patch of white light from the sky illuminating the Cathedral. They saw its spires at the top brushing against the heaven above, its towering white wall peering over the platform they could no longer make out distinctly, but knew that was where Sophia sat, cradling Maria’s head.

For a time, they did not speak to each other.

The immensity of all that had occurred since Soren awoke in this place felt as if it had only just begun to bear down upon him.

He felt for the lily at his waist. A petal had fallen, yet it remained upright.

He wondered about Cybele. He wished he had Alluvian tea to share.

He recalled Tennieson’s words to the very last, and smiled.

Walking through the soft, tall grass, they came upon a man wearing armor that was utterly rusted over. His jaw was missing, and he was cold and pale in the flesh. He sat against the wall of a cottage. The cottage’s roof was caved in, the stone walls chipped, cracked, covered in dust. The man looked up at them as they passed by, his eyes gray and dull. He held a sword in his hand.

Soren gripped his own while he yet looked at the man, and for a moment, felt a brief kinship with him.

And the man looked away, staring off into the darkness. He faded from the light as they passed by.

On occasion a breeze would brush against them, a reprieve from the total silence of the place, for, like when Soren first awoke beneath his own patch of light, there was nary a sound of nature.

They came next upon a woman wearing a coarse, tattered, filth-encrusted linen tunic, pale in the flesh like the man before, missing her hand and an eye. Behind her they could faintly see another cottage, its walls no longer standing.

She stood by a well, staring down into it. She looked over at Soren and Cybele.

She was not armed. Her mute expression did not change as she began to pull on the rope of the pulley, which descended into the well.

Cybele slowly approached her, hand on Gauvain’s dagger. The woman continued to pull.

And Soren watched him as Cybele aided the woman.

None spoke at all.

In the tin bucket which came out of the well was clear water. The woman took the pail by the handle, set it on the rim of the well. She cupped the water from the pail and sipped.

Cybele backed away. The woman looked at Cybele, then at Soren, and continued to drink.

And she faded from the light as they passed by.

They ascended another grassy hill, and saw the golden halo at Mount Krag’s summit a little more clearly now.

“I imagine it’s been a while now,” said Cybele.

Soren turned to him, saw his eyelids sagging ever so slightly.

“What do you mean?” asked Soren.

“Above us. Above the Firmament, or whatever it was the—Sisters called it.”

Soren looked up at the halo again.

“Perhaps. They never did tell us about how that works.”

“What if… what if it’s only been a day? What if it’s been years? Decades?”

Soren could not recall anyone else he might have known in Elestie. Given his circumstances, however, he thought—he hoped—that the Church had not completely abandoned him.

He hoped even one bishop would hear him. He could make do with that, however harshly.

He recalled the silver blade at Cybele’s side, then in her hands—

He recalled Cybele as a lady.

“I will make do, whatever it is I find,” said Soren. “But what about you?”

“That. I’ve been thinking about that.”

Soren felt the grass yielding beneath his steps, saw the soft white light upon it all. The halo crept closer.

He saw the dried blood on Cybele’s hands.

“What of my house… of my family… of my sex… of my—my crime.”

Soren thought of his own crime. He did not have proof of the scheme; it was yet another hurdle he would have to surmount, and there was no telling what might happen, for God did not speak.

But—he would try.

“You must… try,” said Soren.

Cybele turned to Soren, tilting his head inquisitively.

“I do not know if God has yet absolved you—perhaps He has, perhaps He hasn’t. While He does not speak, there is only a choice to make in the moment, then the next. And the next…”

Soren looked again at the halo. He thought he could see winged creatures flying along it, but he was not sure. Not yet.

“Yet, all the same,” Soren said, as he took hold of Cybele’s hand, “I believe in my vocation. I believe God would share the love I have for you. I… cannot forgive you on behalf of your family, but… I know your heart. I know how it has been crushed. You are a kind person, Cybele.”

Cybele squeezed his hand tightly. Soren looked and saw tears welling in his eyes as his brow furrowed harshly.

Cybele sighed deeply, loosened his brow, and smiled.

“At the least,” said Cybele, “there is yet a chance no one else knows my true sex. Upon our return, you should refer to me as a lady.”

Soren nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

Cybele chuckled before his smile faded away, looking downcast.

“In spite of everything, of what—what my family did to me… still, I must admit that I—I rather enjoy being one. I’m not entirely sure what that—that means, either…”

Soren squeezed Cybele’s hand.

“Now, these things, we do not have to rush,” Soren said. “There is no need. God is infinitely patient, as evinced by this strange place we still find ourselves in. Men are not, but they are also… pliable, if you’ll allow me to inhabit the mind of an aristocrat.”

Cybele laughed heartily.

“Yes,” Cybele said, wearing a bright smile, “I will allow that. But only for a moment.”

Soren smiled in turn.

Quietly, they proceeded, as the foot of the mountain came ever closer.