Page 79 of Crucible of Chaos

The door burst open, shards of wood flying through the air as the demons began to stream into the cavern, sniffing the air, convinced there was nothing for them to fear. Agneta fired her pistols, but now, perhaps armoured in the love of their new god, the demons were unharmed.

‘The factions were disunited in all things,’ Estevar told Caeda. ‘They believed they were fighting over their faith, but their faith was gone, replaced by a singular conviction that the world was unworthy of the gods, so it must be destroyed before it could be redeemed.’ He pointed to the demons. ‘That is whattheyare, what Venia has become: the living embodiment of the desire to punish others for our own failings.’

The demons began to advance on them, this time marching in formation, just as Leogado’s Trumpeters had attacked them.

Mother Leogado hurled one of her curved swords at them, the weapon spinning with an accuracy almost as remarkable as its complete lack of effect when it struck its target.

‘What now?’ Leogado asked, turning to Estevar. ‘This is the outcome of your little trial? You tell us we’re all to blame and then we die?’

He ignored her, speaking only to Caeda. ‘I care nothing for gods or demons,’ he told her. ‘The facts of this case couldn’t be simpler. A girl was murdered; the particularities of her death caused the crime to transcend the barriers that separate human beings from their gods. You, my dear, must now pass judgment on us all.’

Caeda stopped crying, straightened her back, smoothed her matted red hair and spoke with utmost care and heartrending regret. ‘I’m sorry, my Cantor. If it is my ruling that governs this trial, then the verdict must be. . .guilty.’

The demons halted their advance to clap and cheer, roaring with delight, elbowing each other like drunks at a tavern sharing a rude joke.

‘Ah,’ said Estevar, smiling at her, ‘but you see, Piccolo, when a travelling magistrate– particularly one of the legendary sword-wielding Greatcoats– renders a verdict, they must sometimes duel to enforce their ruling.’

‘How?’ she asked, looking towards the curved ceiling of the prayer cave as if she could see through it to the courtyard above. ‘Venia’s become the god. I’m just a dead girl.’

He took her by the shoulders, steadying her. ‘Listen to me, Piccolo. What was once the Abbot of Isola Sombra, whatever he has now become, usurps the authority vested not in him, butin you. Venia’s obsession turned to madness, and that madness begat mayhem and murder, but one thing I have found about this strange little country of yours?’

He waited for her eyes to return to his, and shook her gently when they didn’t. The demons crept closer to listen, enthralled by Estevar’s last, futile effort.

‘What?’ Caeda asked him, her body frail in his hands, her tone listless. ‘What is so fascinating to you about this horrid country that you never returned to your own?’

Estevar grinned. ‘Always, even in their worst, their clumsiest depravities, the people of this land can’t help but turn failure into hope. And Venia, for all his many failings, performed one perfect, sublime, redeeming act. He choseyoubefore himself. Now, what do you think about that,Eminence?’

Without waiting for an answer, he let go of her, drew his broken-bladed rapier and walked past Strigan, Leogado and Agneta to face the demons. Imperious came to his side. Estevar patted the mule’s head affectionately, and in return, Imperious tried to bite him.

‘The trial is ended, the verdict rendered. If I am to die, if Hell shall henceforth tread the judicial circuits that were once mine to walk, I will do so with a sword in my hand, a friend at my side and a smile on my face.’ He took up the narrow-footed guard he preferred when fencing in enclosed spaces. ‘Come, devils; I am for you.’

At first, there was nothing. The demons performed their usual mocking antics, pretending to wipe tears from eyes that could shed none, save in the manifold joys of enacting torture and torment. Then, noting his rapier, they began tugging on each other’s fingers, pulling them longer and longer until each pale, bony hand was a quintet of stilettos.

Estevar was feeling distinctly unsteady on his feet and wondered whether perhaps he would collapse from fever or fear before the demons could get to him– then he noticed a similar tremor in Imperious and realised there was a subtle, rumbling vibration coming from the stone floor, like sitting in a carriage rolling down a cobbled street. The shaking intensified and fragments of stone began tumbling from the walls and ceiling. Next came the roar of thunder– which was when he heard the gasps coming from behind him.

Estevar turned to see Mother Leogado, Strigan and Brother Agneta staring up at Caeda, who was floating above the ground, her arms outstretched, wild red hair streaming in an unseen wind.

Another crack of thunder was this time accompanied by a burst of jagged light that pierced the ceiling to wrap itself like a lover’s arms around Caeda.

‘Thelightning,’ Brother Agneta shouted into the deafening gale blowing through the underground tunnels, sending even the demons reeling off-balance. ‘She’s drawing it into herself!’

‘Look!’ Strigan said, pointing to the floor where tiny flakes of gleaming ore erupted from newly formed fissures in the rock, attaching themselves to Caeda, spreading out over her skin, encasing her in shimmering armour.

Estevar gazed up at her in awe, but also with trepidation, for as much as he had come to love this enigmatic, curious young woman, Caeda carried within her the torments of a troubled life and a bitterly unjust death. And through this trial that she had never wanted, he had pushed her to abandon the restraints of mortality, to take for herself a godhood shaped not by faith, but by chaos.

‘She’s saying something,’ Brother Agneta shouted, the inquisitor’s ageing eyes narrowing as if trying to read her lips. ‘I can’t make it out over the wind.’

Estevar stepped closer to the young woman floating above the ground. Her entire body was now covered in shimmery flecks so that she might have been a statue carved from raw metals, save that her lips were moving.

‘Please,’ Estevar said, ‘I can’t hear you, Piccolo.’

When she spoke again, it was with no greater volume, but he heard every word.

‘What did she say?’ Mother Leogado asked.

Lightning exploded once more, not from the skies above Isola Sombra, but from inside the prayer cave itself. The blinding eruption split apart into jagged strands of white fire that darted past Estevar and the others, striking the demons one by one, their cries of glee turning to surprised disbelief, only to be silenced by the endless booming thunder– until the thick, leathery skin and hideous bony protrusions were gone, leaving behind only the bodies of dead monks, their humanity restored at the cost of their lives.

Estevar turned back to the living and shouted at the top of his voice the words Caeda had uttered to him.

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