Page 30 of The Malevolent Eight

She looked confused. Or possibly nauseous. ‘Despite my training, one turn of phrase bandied about by Mortals continued to confuse me. I always presumed it was merely another example of the hyperbole to which humans are prone. Now, though, I wonder. . .’ She pointed to Corrigan and Temper, covered in mud and grinning madly, still hurling the same epithet at one another over and over again. ‘Cade, is this what is meant by “true love”?’

The answer was obvious to me. ‘You bet your motherfucking arse that’s love.’

Chapter 15

Humility

The work of completing the cathedral was as gruelling as its results were unrewarding: a dodecahedron shaped from twelve inordinately long lengths of ribbon– purchased at a truly exorbitant price, because humans who side with Infernals have an irritating talent for figuring out exactly how badly you want it, even something as completely innocuous as strips of coloured satin– tied between twelve posts in a huge muddy field.

‘Hardly looks like a cathedral,’ Galass observed.

‘The ritual doesn’t require us to build a palace,’ I began. ‘Think of what we’re building as more of a. . . welcome mat.’

‘And what is a welcome mat?’ asked Alice, upper lip already curled in anticipation of my response.

In case I haven’t made this clear before, trying to explain the finer points of Glorian esoteric rituals to a group of demoniacs, angelics, former sublimes-turned-blood mages, totemists, Tempestoral mercenaries and fucking vampire kangaroos gets to be a nightmare after a while.

‘Look, just follow me and do as I do,’ I told them as I handed each a flask of wine. ‘We need to symbolically consecrate the twelve sides of the perimeter: so donotdrink the wine, and just to avoid getting us all blasted to nothingness by immortal extra-dimensional entities who consider themselves gods, let’s try to muster up a little sincerity as we do this, okay?’

I ignored the glares and, stepping into the narrow trench between the first set of posts, I unstoppered my flask and let a few drops of wine fall into the dirt. ‘I am a sinner against Humility,’ I said aloud, contemplating my recent failures in living up to that particular virtue, despite not being particularly fond of it in the first place. ‘Allow me to confess.’

‘I confess you’re a fucking moron,’ Corrigan muttered, following behind me. I shot him a look that I hoped conveyed the degree of panic his attitude was instilling in me about our future prospects, until he grudgingly repeated my words and poured a few drops of wine into the trench.

At the second post, I turned to follow the next trench. ‘I am a sinner against Chastity,’ I said quietly. ‘Allow me to confess.’

Honestly, contemplating my offences in this regard was a bit of a struggle. All humility aside, I figured I’d pretty much nailed the whole chastity thing in recent years– but having met the Lord Celestine of Chastity personally, I can attest that that prudish bastard considers even dirty thoughts a violation of his domain, so that helped.

Behind me, Corrigan was sauntering along the trench, repeating the words and then giggling like a twelve-year-old. It would be fair to say his own sins against chastity were manifold. I wasreallyhoping Shame, Aradeus and Galass at least would be making up for him in sincerity. . .

And that’s how you invite the Presence of the Lords Celestine, friends: build a shitty twelve-sided pigpen and trudge along each side whining about what a sinner you are. Humility, Chastity, Compassion, Generosity. . . I declared myself a sinner in all the Celestine Virtues, even the very last one– the one for which I once swore I would never again ask for forgiveness.

‘I am a sinner against Justice,’ I intoned, struggling to keep my mind in the correct spiritual alignment. ‘Allow me to confess.’

The ritual requires that all parties to the ceremony complete the Walk of Confession before the plea is answered, but as was so often the case with the Celestines, the sacred rules were mostly bullshit. The instant I’d made my last confession, even before Corrigan had opened his own mouth, light and a cascade of pulsing golden rhythms exploded from the centre of our makeshift cathedral, blinding and deafening us. By the time we could see and hear again, the luminescence had dimmed but not departed; nor would it untiltheyhad.

The twelve rough-hewn posts were now wrapped in pristine marble, swelling and rising up until they were thirty feet high and topped by flames of pure starlight. The silver ribbons dangled from gleaming white walls carved with elaborate reliefs, each depicting one of the twelve virtues.

We walked around our newly erected cathedral, incapable of hiding the awe this towering structure awakened in us. Not even Shame could pretend indifference to the majesty that had taken over this muddy field in the middle of nowhere.

‘Wait,’ Galass said as we reached the gilded arched entrance through which could be seen the twelve thrones of the Lords Celestine. ‘How can you be sure they won’t obliterate us the moment we step inside? After all, you did call them “thick-witted morons” obsessed with a “mythical pissing contest” against the Infernals.’ She gripped my arm even tighter. ‘Cade, you threatened to murder them. Why should they do us any favours now?’

I patted her hand in as patronising a fashion as my trembling fingers could allow and offered up my best Aradeus Mozen impression. ‘Nothing to fear, my dear. What steel and spell cannot compel, shall audacity and wit soon propel.’

When that failed to reassure, Shame explained, ‘The Lords Celestine represent the twelve highest virtues of the Auroral Song. Petty notions of vengeance over some idle threat uttered by those they would surely deem insignificant Mortals are beneath them.’

‘Didn’t they condemn you to enslavement on a whoreship for having dared question their plans?’ Corrigan asked.

‘Yes,’ the former angelic conceded, ‘but questioning divine will is a far greater sin than mere sedition or murder. So long as Cade doesn’t ask the wrong questions, there should be no cause for retaliation.’

‘We’re all doomed,’ muttered Alice, giving me a shove towards the steps to the archway.

It was only then that I realised the flaw in my plan. It wasn’t so much that I feared my former masters, or even that I hated them,though both facts were incontrovertible. I’d spent the last several years convincing myself that I didn’t miss my life as a Glorian Justiciar, hearing the Auroral Song, being blessed, being. . .loved. But I had forgotten to forewarn the others– Corrigan in particular– that when one joins the Glorians, one gives up the mundane appellation of one’s birth to be granted a new name more fitting to their vocation.

‘Welcome back into our embrace,’ the Lord Celestine of Justice said proudly, uttering the name she herself had given years before to an overly idealistic boy with no sense of irony.

I should also have warned Corrigan that it’s bad form to burst out laughing in front of the Lords Celestine when entering their mystically conjured cathedral.

‘Motherfucker,’ Temper added unhelpfully.

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