‘The wearied man perked up. “Would you like me to?”
‘Scowling at Chloe, I rummaged in my saddlebags by the door. Grabbing one of my vodka bottles, I pulled a chair to the fire. “Talk.”
‘Undeterred, the soothsinger brushed back his perfect curls. He looked about the room, drawing a deep breath. And he launched into his tale then, with all the flourish of a young buck who’d carved a hundred bedpost notches with his silver tongue.
‘“Perhaps a thousand years ago, somewhere in Nordlund, a boy was born. His name is lost to time, but he’d come to be known as the Redeemer. As he grew to manhood, he became an itinerant priest, preaching that there was only one God. Not only did he proclaim the Old Gods a lie, the Redeemer claimed to be the son of this true God. He performed miracles. Raised the dead. And in time, an army. Marching west, he spread his ‘One Faith’ at the point of a sword. The conflict was bloody, and decades long.”
‘“Fucksakes, Bouchette, you’re not telling m—”
‘“Hush, Gabriel,” Chloe growled. “Listen.”
‘Bellamy leaned into his tale. “The Redeemer was betrayed by his disciples, and murdered on the wheel by priests of the Old Gods. But his last loyal follower, the hunter Michon, caught his lifeblood in a silver chalice as he died. Michon took up the war in her Redeemer’s name, until she herself was martyred in battle. But the ideals of the One Faith endured. And centuries later, the warlord Maximille de Augustin and his famille finally united five kingdoms into one empire, under the One True Faith.”
‘I sighed, necking the bottle. This was nothing I didn’t already know.
‘“Pay attention, Gabe,” Chloe insisted. “What you’re about to hear could get you and everyone you love flayed to death on the wheel. This is the darkest heresy in the empire.”
‘I swallowed deep and sighed. “Out with it, then.”
‘Père Rafa bent forward, liver-spotted fingers steepled at his lips. He glanced to Dior, and I could see the fear in him – as if even speaking these words were a sin.
‘“Chloe and I pieced this tale together over many years, Silversaint. Fragments of knowledge. Merest scraps of truth, mixed among miles of madmen’s scrawl and lies. To this day, we know not the half of it. But one thing is certain, and two for sure. Michon was not only the Redeemer’s disciple.”
‘The old man sighed as if from his bones.
‘“She was his lover.”
‘If the priest expected that shot to strike home, it fell well short of the mark. “God’s begotten son enjoyed a tumble like the rest of us.” I shrugged. “So what?”
‘“So the Testaments were first written in Old Talhostic, Silversaint. And in Old Talhostic, the words for lifeblood and essence are almost the same: Aavsunc. Aavsenct.”
‘“Michon didn’t capture the Redeemer’s lifeblood in some cup, Gabe.” Chloe pressed one hand to her belly. “She captured his essence in her own. And nine months after his death, she gave birth to his child. A daughter. Named Esan.”
‘My eyes narrowed at that. “That’s Old Talhostic too. For Faith …”
‘Chloe nodded and murmured. “Esani.”
‘“Faithless …” I whispered, looking at the vein in my wrist. “What the fuck …”
‘“A direct descendant of God’s son,” Rafa murmured. “But within a year, her mother was dead. And fearing persecution, Esan’s guardians moved her to Talhost. Eventually, she had children of her own. The Redeemer’s descendants often exhibited signs of divinity in their blood, but kept their origins secret. They built a dynasty, and eventually, began an uprising against the Emperor himself. Claiming a divine right to sit upon the Fivefold Throne.”
‘“The Aavsenct Heresy …” I murmured.
‘“So it was named by the Pontifex of the One Faith,” Chloe said. “The idea of the Redeemer taking a mortal lover was declared a sacrilege, and the descendants of Esan, blasphemers. And in the following purge, their line was all but wiped out – ironically by the Church their progenitor Michon had helped forge.”
‘“All records were expunged from Church archives,” Rafa said. “Only scraps remain. Esan’s bloodline diminished to almost nothing, and lost all knowledge of itself. The blood thinned. The line was almost broken.”
‘“Almost.”
‘Chloe looked to Dior, the boy silhouetted against the flames.
‘“But that falling star we saw? That star marked the moment of Dior’s birth. Rafa and I have searched for more than a year. Following tales of magik, witchcraft, sorcerie. We’d almost given up hope when we heard of a boy whose blood worked miracles. Even brought people back from the edge of death.”
‘“Great fucking Redeemer,” I breathed.
‘“Blasphemy,” she smiled weakly.
‘“You’re telling me this skinny little fuckstain …”
‘“… is the last-known scion of Esan’s line. Dior doesn’t know where the Grail is, Gabriel. He is the Grail. The cup of the Redeemer’s blood.”
‘“From holy cup comes holy light,” Rafa said.
‘“The faithful hand sets world aright,” Bellamy murmured.
‘“And in the Seven Martyrs’ sight,” Chloe whispered.
‘Dior met my eyes and shrugged. “Mere man shall end this endless night.”
‘The crackling flames were the only sound to fill that silence. I looked around the room, pulse hammering in my temples. This sounded like the darkest shade of madness. The chill in the air seeped into my chest, and I stood, sudden enough that Saoirse lifted her axe, jaw clenched. Chloe stared at me with eyes wide; Rafa’s hand was inside his sleeve. But I only paced the room, dragging one hand back through my hair before stopping to stare at the boy – that pale streak of seagull shit in his stolen coat and busted boots. He looked nothing like the salvation of the world. But I’d seen it with my own fucking eyes. Those monsters bursting into flames as his blood touched their lips. Those red hands dragging Rafa and Bellamy back from the edge of death. Drinking the blood of an ancien kith might heal a wound as deep as those two had suffered, but Dior was a living, breathing boy.
‘How could this be? I wondered.
‘Could this be?
‘I walked slowly towards Dior, and the boy simply watched. I stopped a few inches away, and he looked up at me, unflinching. I could feel Saoirse at my back, Bellamy’s fingers now slipping to his blade. But I only reached down beside me and the boy, snatched up my vodka. Gulping a mouthful, three, four, I felt my eyes watering at the burn. And tossing the empty into the fireplace, I said the cleverest thing I could think of at the time.
‘“Well, fuck my face …”’
IX
TWO WORDS
‘“GABRIEL.”
‘My eyes flashed open, pupils dilating in the dark. A bird with broken wings beat swift inside my belly. For one blessed moment, I thought I was in our bed back home. The peaceful rhythm of my daughter’s breath drifting down the hall, the bare branches of the sycamore outside our room scraping against the window. All was peace, and all was well, and I held tight, closing my eyes against the truth.