Page 78 of Crucible of Chaos

‘Because the Trattari is wrong,’ Malezias declared from his dark corner of the cavern, rising to his feet at last. ‘Abbot Venia was never content with the prospect of purifying Isola Sombra so that whichever god was next reborn wouldn’t be infected by our sins. He wantedtocreatea god– one who would live up tohisexpectations.

‘That’s why he meddled with the sigils,’ Estevar explained, saddened by how easily altruism could be poisoned by pride. Venia unlocked secrets buried in thePurgadistexts by clerics too afraid of heresy charges to make them explicit, yet fearing that the true rites of creation might be needed to bring back the gods, should some would-be tyrant ever find the means to kill them.’

Caeda, too, rose from her seat. ‘But if Venia wasn’t trying to purge the brethren of their sins, then why did he—?’

But Malezias, no longer her adoring servant, walked towards her as he let his words fly like a thousand arrows to pierce her indifference towards him. ‘You can’t just write a few magic symbols on any idiot’s skin and hope to produce a god.’ He slammed a fist against his own chest. ‘We are unworthy, all of us, and all of us would make unworthy gods. But Venia, he—’

The screeching howls were closer now, the approaching tide of death and devouring coming for them, but Malezias didn’t appear to hear them. ‘He chose a young woman from the village– she used to sneak into the abbey sometimes, stealing books to read, returning them a few days later. Venia caught her once, and rather than deny her intrusions, he allowed her to pepper him with questions about the theological inconsistencies of the holy books she’d taken. Venia told me. . .’

Malezias suddenly broke down, sobbing, his broad shoulders shaking. At last, he pulled himself together enough to continue, ‘There she was, this strange, unapologetic lass who’d never even seen the inside of a schoolhouse, yet had somehow taught herself to read with more passion and curiosity than any of the religious scholars to ever come here.’

‘Someone like Venia himself,’ Agneta said softly, almost fondly. ‘Curiosity was always his greatest sin.’

‘Some would call it the greatest of virtues,’ Estevar replied. ‘The witness will please continue his testimony.’

Malezias clenched his fists at his sides. ‘Oh, he was full of admiration for the girl– so much so that he trapped her inside the infirmary, tied her down and inscribed his perfected sigils upon her, keeping her there for days, refusing her food or water, telling her he would throw her into the sea unless she revealed herself as his goddess.’

They all turned to Caeda, who looked nothing at all like a goddess. Though it was dry in the cavern, her hair was soaked and matted to her face, her gown, which until then had always looked clean, was now drenched and filthy, clinging to a slender body that shook and shook and shook from a cold none of them could feel.

Strigan was staring at Malezias. ‘How could you know all these details? Unless—’

‘Venia didn’t trust the rest of you,’ Estevar put in. ‘He feared the brethren of Isola Sombra had become so polarised in their beliefs that they would poison his experiment. So he approached a former monk who still lived in the village and convinced him there was a path to their mutual redemption.’

The fury in Malezias’ eyes could have set fire to the sea itself. ‘But he waswrong. His theories were nonsense– nothing but a fool’s delusions. After his captive died of thirst and fright and loneliness, he made good on his promise and hurled her from the clifftop. But even then’– he brought up his hands, fingers curled as if he were about to claw out his own eyes,as if he, too, had seen that infamous painting of Hell– ‘even then, he insisted the ritual would succeed, that she would come back, returned to us as a. . .’ He left the final word unspoken.

‘But you didn’t believe him, did you?’ Estevar asked.

There were shuffling footsteps outside the door now, the slow, tentative prowl of the predator come at last to devour its prey, yet cautious of entering its lair.

Malezias’ upper lip curled. ‘I took him from the abbey in broad daylight, convinced that if my intentions were wrong, someone would stop me.’ He turned first to Strigan, then Agneta and finally to Leogado. ‘He screamed out your names as I dragged him down into this very chamber. He screamed them over and over as I carved the very sigils with which he’d tortured Caeda into his flesh. And when I was done, I showed him the blade with which I was going to sever his head from his body. He screamed one last time, but not for mercy. All he wanted in his last moment of life was for me to bury his corpse far from Isola Sombra.’

‘But you didn’t,’ Strigan said, gaping at him. ‘You put him in the statuary.’

Malezias said grimly, ‘I wanted the stench of his rotting corpse to foul the air of this place for ever. A suitable punishment for a liar and a murderer– but then. . .’

He began to weep again, shutting his eyes as if to keep the tears from escaping. ‘Three days later, she walked out of the sea. At first, she didn’t remember her name, or anything that had happened to her. She was so weak, but I knew– Iknewthat Venia had been right all along. I threw myself at her feet, begged forevermore to be the first and most loyal of her apostles, but she. . .’

‘She thought you were a fool in love,’ Estevar said gently. ‘And then you wondered why she displayed no great gifts, granted no blessings, offered no redemption.’

‘Why?’ Malezias asked, dropping to his knees before her. ‘Why wouldn’t you save me, save all of us?’

‘Who the hell are you talking about?’ Strigan demanded. ‘Who’s this mysterious dead girl you keep talking about?’

Mother Leogado pointed to where Caeda stood, and when Strigan turned and noticed her again, slapped him across the face to save them all another of his lewd propositions.

Tentative, almost playful scratching came at the door, then hushed giggles from the other side. Brother Agneta raised both her pistols, determined to take at least two of the monstrosities down with her to Hell when the moment arrived.

‘Before I die, Trattari,’ the old inquisitor began, ‘would you mind telling me why Venia’s attempt to produce a god gave us a mildly irritating, inappropriately dressed, easily forgotten waif, whereas Malezias in a fit of pique seems to have created a God of Demons to devour us all?’

Estevar instinctively reached for his rapier, but stopped himself. The top third of the broken blade was probably still trapped between the upper ribs of one of the demons–not that any flourish of swordplay could hope to avert their doom this time. ‘Abbot Venia’s experiment had a crucial flaw. Gods were meant to be born of the faith–the aspirations–of an entire people. When the early Tristians were brought here as slaves, they shared desires so deep that the very ores that run beneath this island awoke to their needs: War to make them fierce, Craft to give them the means to fight, Death to their enemies, Coin to reward their victories, Love to give them purpose. But the monks of Isola Sombra were lost to themselves, both to the hallucinogenic toxins with which the Margrave of Someil had infected them and to their own petty theological disputes.’

‘So, Venia’s god was born not of faith, but of madness?’ Mother Leogado asked, drawing her shortswords and taking up position next to Brother Agneta at the door, where the scratching was becoming more frantic, the giggling now howling in ecstatic anticipation. ‘Why are you able to remember her so easily when the rest of us cannot?’

‘She was given power, but not purpose,’ Estevar answered. ‘Ever since she returned to these shores, she’s been unable to know herself. I alone among you remember her, for my faith is not in any god, but in seeking out the facts, no matter how dark they may be. Instinctively, she began assisting my investigation, unaware that what she was searching for was the mystery of her own being.’

‘No,’ Caeda said, coming to stand before him. ‘I was searching for the strength to accept the truth.’ That cold, emotionlessness look had fled from her face, replaced by trembling lips and streaming tears. ‘I was born broken, wasn’t I?’

Estevar bent down and kissed each cheek, tasting the salt water on his own lips. ‘None of us is born broken, my dear, only with the burden of discovering who we might become, and what the world will demand of us.’

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