Crucio Alvarez threw another pair of bones onto the hot plate, which danced and hissed in the mint oil. The laboratory erupted with a din of screaming crows, who shook and rattled their cages as they smell of their burning kin filled the room. Crucio peered deeply into the smoke, trying his best to ignore the boy and the shimmering ethereal Listener who watched him. He demanded more meaning from these auguries, which currently just warned him of unsettling change.
“May I remind you—,” the Listener started.
“Fine!” Crucio interrupted. He tugged at his brown beard in frustration. He had been summoned to a meeting with Father Alric, and he suspected the worst. Somebody was being sent to the desolate mining town of Docide on an outreach mission, and it was an assignment Crucio had hoped to avoid. “Get Karrsey to clean this up,” he barked.
The listener nodded, then disappeared through the floor, his ethereal form leaving no mark on the stone.
Crucio moved across the stone floor to a mirror, where he took stock of his appearance. His long curly and unkempt hair and scraggly beard did little to portray the organized and thoughtful Deacon that Alric hoped from him. He considered a shave and a bath, but he had already kept Alric waiting.
“Let’s go!” he chided his staffbearer as he departed his laboratory. He marched promptly to the stairs which would lead them to the meeting hall. His young staffbearer closed the door behind him, but hesitated before following toward the stairs.
“Sir?” The staffbearer offered.
“Nothing from you right now.” Crucio began his ascension up the stairs and his staffbearer hurried to catch up with him. He had made this march many times, and hoped it would not be the last. The stairs emptied them into the meeting hall, which was a large room filled with wooden tables and chairs. In times of banquet, this room would seat sixty or more, but today it hosted a couple of apprentices of the Bowl, who chatted by firelight.
The meeting hall connected to nearly every part of the Church. From here you were only one door from the public pulpit, you could take a hallway to the back rooms or the kitchen, you could descend to the ritual rooms, or you could climb to either the aviary of the Grand Hall of the Father. That last one was Crucio’s objective as he crossed the room, trying not to draw the attention of the priestesses. That objective was failed as a young fair skinned priestess named Prosthema set down her tea and stood to address him.
“Are you looking for Alric?” she said politely.
“Yes, now excuse us,” Crucio said, trying to ignore her and beginning his ascent up the finely wrought spiral staircase to the Grand Hall.
“He’s not up there. I was there just now,” she said.
“Where is he?” Crucio asked impatiently.
“I’d be happy to ask a listener,” Prosthema started, “which leads me to something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about…”
She hesitated briefly, which gave Crucio time to turn and head down a hallway to the back rooms, calling out “Not now!” over his shoulder. He certainly did not intend to humor the commands of a priestess much his inferior in age and rank.
The staffbearer lit a torch from the wall, and followed Crucio as he navigated the labyrinthine hall ways which serviced the back rooms. Storage closets, dormitories, and the library were all back here, but Crucio was looking for something particular. One of these doors hid the stairs down to the Sanctum of the Locus, where only Clothbinders were allowed to travel.
Crucio travelled swiftly and directly to a door which was guarded by a white haired priestess in her tight sparring suit. Her name was Nina Tullus, and Crucio had always felt that she took her duties too seriously. He tried to press past her. “I must visit the Sanctum,” Crucio said to Nina.
“You know you cannot do that,” she rebuffed.
“I have a summons from the Father Deacon. Now get your diva ninja warrior act out of my way,”
“Alric is not in the Sanctum,” Nina retorted,
“I believe he is in the catacombs,” Crucio’s staffbearer offered.
“What? Why didn’t you say something?” Crucio threw up his arms.
“Sorry sir,” said the staffbearer.
Crucio once again turned to navigate the hallways.
“Hopefully after this meeting he’ll leave you down there,” Nina called out to him, “It would be a respite for all of us.”
Crucio balked, then scoffed. The catacombs would not cow him. “Let’s go,” he muttered to his staffbearer. When he got out of earshot to Nina, he spoke softly to his staffbearer. “Grab a torch.”
“Yes sir.” The staffbearer was already holding a torch.
After they passed back through the meeting room, they once descended back down the stairs towards the catacombs. Crucio lingered briefly outside his laboratory, once again considering his appearance. He was in some of his nicer green robes. This must be satisfactory for this meeting. He opened the portal to the underground, and they began their descent.
Water dripped from the hewn stone roof onto the stairs as they descended. Up in the church, the rainwater was kept out, but here in the catacombs it dripping through to the caverns. Crucio pulled his robes tight around him, to prevent them from dragging on the dirty ground.
“Do you know what’s in the catacombs?” Crucio asked his staffbearer.
“The Ascended,” responded the boy.
“And you have seen it? Or you’ve just heard?” Crucio insisted.
“When I first came to the monastery. They thought it was important I feel that transcendent awe. I think they wanted to know if I would cower.” the boy explained.
“It is very good at invoking cowardice. I believe that may be why the Father Deacon wishes to meet with me in its presence,” Crucio confided. The stairs ended, and he carefully dodged the brimming puddles as he traversed the winding cavern toward the Font of the Ascended.
“Do you not believe it is because it is a bastion of great wisdom?” the staffbearer suggested.
“Great wisdom, yes,” Crucio responded. “It contains the combined wisdom of all Father Deacons going back to the dampening. But what is wisdom?” Crucio asked.
The staffbearer stayed stoic.
“Wisdom is old. Wisdom is what worked before,” Crucio expounded. “Everything has changed. When the Mastellans came, they ruined things to the point that we needed to build this whole structure to hide the old magicks. The Federation will bring greater ruin. Wisdom will suppose we need to hide it further. Providence dictates that we need to instead bring those magicks to bear. We can tolerate no lesser darkness.”
The staffbearer looked up at Crucio, and said meekly, “Which is why you’re working on the Yurei.”
“Yes!” Crucio exclaimed, then his utterances turned to a whisper “Lucca, you were born to the Federation. You know in your heart that something greater lies beyond. Together we can summon it. This is why I cannot abide Alric sending us away. We need proximity to the Locus.” Crucio’s whispers slipped to almost nothing as they approached the last corner.
The warm orange glow of torchlight was replaced by cold blue emanations as they rounded the corner into the Font of the Ascended. The cavern widened considerably, and a great stone hall had been carved into the hewn stone itself. Granite pillars held up the ceiling, creating a relief where the swirling wisps of the Ascended flared and crackled silently in all their grandeur.
Alric was kneeling on the steps that climbed up to the Ascended. Alric’s staffbearer stood silently in the corner, and Lucca quickly scampered to stand beside him. As Crucio approached Alric, he scanned desperately to see if the Divine spirit before him would manifest and speak. Convention suggested that it only spoke to Father Deacons, but Crucio had heard its voice once before, and desperately yearned to feel adjacent to the infinite again. His scrutiny betrayed no manifestations.
“Do you know why I brought you here?” Alric’s inquiry snapped Crucio to attention.
“I don’t suppose it’s to chastise me about how I’ve been treating the listeners.” Crucio quipped, eliciting a smile from Alric.
“No, no… It’s not that,” Alric responded. “This is about the disappearances on Docide. The people yearn for an authority to help, but the IP remains unfazed. We will offer them the greatest authority.”
Crucio’s heart threatened to leap out of his mouth. Refusing this assignment would require a great escalation. “Excuse me, father,” Crucio said politely, “but to relocate to that desolate rock would render mute the efforts of my rituals.”
Alric nodded knowingly, “Having communed with the Fathers before, we have determined that no simple pilgrim will do for this task. The large unkept flock amassing on Lurelat deserves dedicated leadership. And for that, I have tasked Djoln to construct a monastery. Once it is complete, I will send Unya to assist with solving the disappearances.”
A great relief washed over Crucio. The assignment to Docide would not be his. “Why, then, did you summon me here?”
“Djoln’s presence offered many advantages in the city,” Alric responded. “His bookish presence did a great deal to assuage nefarious rumors.”
“Rumors, of?” Crucio asked.
“Do not insult me, Crucio.” Alric said, his tone hardening, “As the second highest ranking Templar of the Book, it will fall to you to make sure the messages taken away from this establishment are the ones that we choose.”
“What is it that you think I’ve—” Crucio started.
“Silence!” the Ascended bellowed.
Crucio and Alric fell to their knees. Crucio closed his eyes hard, preparing to be struck. No reprimand came, however. After a few seconds, he raised his head to look into The Ascended. It had manifested with the face of Father Kelrig, who had ruled as king more than 300 years ago.
“Still your fervor,” The King warned, in a powerful voice that caused the whole cavern to rumble. Even as it cowed him, Crucio felt grateful to have heard its command.
“There are rumors, Crucio,” Alric continued. “Rumors of bodies going missing, and spirits being consumed. My requirements for you are threefold. You must stop harvesting threads from outside the grounds, you must figure out how these rumors escaped, and reprimand those responsible, and you must begin making public appearances. You will be shaved, eloquent, and polite. We must appear as though we are unfazed, and have nothing to hide.”
“But my rituals,” Crucio contended, “They require more energy. If you allowed me to harness the Locus, I wouldn’t need the bodies.”
“Your rituals are folly,” Alric decreed. “Your ambitions to captivate a Yurei will come at great cost, at best. We do not need the scrutiny of those who may wish to harm our ways. And at worst, releasing such a beast upon our dimension will cause great bereavement.”
“Our enemies will have no great will to scrutinize us when we wield that might,” Crucio retorted.
“It will not be long before you stand at the black altar, and purify me into the Ascended,” Alric said. “Then you will take my mantle as Father Deacon, but then still, when you commune with us, our wisdom will be unchanged.”
Crucio considered. Alric had buried the lede. By sending Djoln to Lurelat, Crucio became the second highest ranking deacon, and therefore was Alric’s de facto successor. He considered the frailties of the old man before him.
“Boy,” Alric called to Crucio’s staffbearer. The child stepped into the light. “Your ward has ambition, and I stand in his way. If he ordered you to strike me, would you follow through?”
“The staff protects,” Lucca responded, “I must follow any divine command given by my deacon,” Lucca continued, “but a command to strike the unarmed in times of peace cannot be divine.”
“You’ve been trained well. What’s your name?” Alric asked.
“Lucca Alson, father.”
“Alson?” Alric responded with curiosity. “So you’re Unya’s brother. I must say, the two of you have taken very nicely to the teachings of Prominence.”
“Thank you, father.”
“You see, Crucio,” Alric said, turning back to the man before him, “The force of the church is more mighty than the force of any man. The teachings are more powerful than any mortal command. Even the staffbearer sworn to you will not strike upon your word without cause. You are dismissed, but I warn you: Do not rely too carefully upon the will of men who would choose ambition over duty, or duty over grace.”
Crucio stood. He nodded briefly to Alric before falling into a deep bow to the unearthly Kelrig. Then he departed, and Lucca followed him.
After the pair had been gone for a few seconds, Alric turned to his staffbearer.
“What do you think of him?” Alric asked.
“I think he is a conniving weasel. I don’t understand why you didn’t send him away,” the man responded.
“Keep your friends close,” Alric responded. “I meant Lucca, though. The boy.”
“He’s tough,” the man replied. “I watched him take many beatings from Nina during his training. Every ounce of power he has earned has been hard fought. He is no great wizard, but he is strong, fast, and dedicated.”
“And moral, it seems,” Alric added wistfully, looking at the empty tunnel Lucca had departed down. Then he turned again to his staffbearer. “Are you still seeking veneration?”
“If you would sponsor me,” the staffbearer responded with some excitement. “I have served in this role for 39 years.”
“You have served me personally for nearly 20,” Alric noted. “Let’s see to it that your 40th year is easier on the knees.”
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