Saintslayer (Lucifae Carver, Antipriestess of Light Book 1) Chapter 1 (Patreon)

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Lucifae was dreaming again. It was midday. It was always midday in her dreams. The sun shone high in the sky, dispelling shadows and fears.

She was a child again. She laughed. She smiled. She ran, careless and free, in a field of green grass and golden rays.

“MY CHILD,” the sun spoke in a woman’s voice, startling Lucifae. “MY POOR, LOST CHILD. DESPAIR NOT, FOR NO POWER CAN KEEP YOU AWAY FROM ME.”

She stood in the middle of the field, closed her eyes, lifted her face towards the warmth, and sighed.

No, she was not a child anymore, and this was not the light she used to love.

“I renounce you,” she said.

The sun blazed brighter. She could see it even with her eyes closed.

“WITHOUT ME, YOU ARE LOST, HOPELESS AND POWERLESS, CHILD. BUT I AM HERE NOW, AND YOU SHALL BE HOME AT LAST.”

She shook her head and pressed her eyes shut even tighter. “I renounce you, Pelia, false goddess of light. May you be cast in eternal darkness.”

The sun grew larger, its corona spanning the entire sky.

“POOR CHILD. YOU KNOW IN YOUR HEART THAT YOU ARE BLESSED BY THE LIGHT. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR. NOW, COME. OPEN YOUR EYES. EMBRACE ME.”

Lucifae stomped her feet on the ground. “I renounce you, cruel and evil usurper of the light,” she shouted at the sun.

“I AM LIGHT. I AM WHAT HOLDS THIS WORLD TOGETHER. I AM GOD. YOUR GODDESS. YOUR DESTINY.”

“No, you are a thief! I renounce you, thief. You stole my sun, you stole my freedom. You are not my goddess. Be gone! Be gone from my mind! Be gone from my dreams!”

The sun descended, setting the field ablaze.

“I AM THE ONE AND ONLY TRUE GOD OF NAAM. I CANNOT BE DENIED.”

Lucifae took a deep breath. It was sunfire. “I renounce you with all my heart. I reject your falsehoods. I rebuke you by the will of those who came before me. You, false god, will fall, and we shall walk free once more.”

“BLINDLY YOU RECITE THE BLASPHEMERS’ WORDS. YET, YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT ME. KNOW THAT MY PATIENCE IS LIMITLESS AS THE SKY, AS ENDLESS AS MY POWER. RETURN TO DARKNESS TO CONTEMPLATE YOUR INSOLENCE!”

Lucifae opened her eyes. Her tiny cell was dark. The evening bell was ringing high above in the cathedral’s spires. The sun had just set. It was time for work.

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An hour later, having completed her evening antiprayers and confessed her dream of Pelia, the warring goddess of the sun, to the inquisitors on duty, Lucifae stepped out of the Grey Cathedral. This night, there was no militia guard or paladin of the Pure Mind waiting for her. Tonight was the first night she was patrolling alone.

The ruins of Whitebay lay dark and quiet in front of her. Clouds blocked all starlight, and she couldn’t tell if the moon was up yet. The few lit lampposts, scattered around the edges of Defiance Square, seemed like tiny candles in a dark sea. She embraced the darkness, relying on her nightsight to navigate the city’s ruins.

She crossed Defiance Square without encountering a single person. It was almost empty, save for the occasional piece of meteoric stone embedded in the ancient cobblestone. The tents and the hovels that clung together under the collapsed towers defined the edges of the square.

Instead of her usual route, she continued straight south to Seaspray Avenue, the ancient road that used to connect the Grey Cathedral to the port, back when the city was still a bustling seaside metropolis. Now, the sea was gone, and the city lay broken amidst a desert of kaleidoscopic colors. She remembered the day the Theomachy struck Whitebay as a titanic battle between the gods that destroyed this city sixteen years ago. She remembered when the gods pulled away the sea, tore the ground asunder, and set the sky ablaze in their mad bid to annihilate each other. Now the city was in ruins, and the Theomachy raged on elsewhere, as the gods still fought each other for dominion over Naam, the world of mortals, while innocents perished on its tortured surface. But not everyone accepted that fate. Those who dared defy the will of the gods and fought against them were theomachists; mortal combatants in a war between gods.

Lucifae felt a burden on her chest. Her heartbeat quickened at the mere memory of Theomachy, the war of the gods that was tearing Naam apart. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and recited an antiprayer from the dysangelion of Martana, the legendary theomachist wizard who martyred in the fight against the gods a long time ago, trying to push the horrors of the past away from her mind.

“Many are the sorrows of the theomachist, but a free mind and a peaceful death await those who renounce the gods.” Again and again, she whispered the ancient verse in elven and the tongue of men in turn, until she reached Castle Roban. This was once one of the most splendid buildings on Seaspray Avenue. Now, ruined and still smoldering even after all those years, it was a sad reminder of the city’s fall. Lucifae did not raise her eyes at the castle’s half-collapsed towers. Instead, she focused on a lamppost in front of her, the first one in her new patrol route.

She lifted her hand towards the lamppost, and with a short antiprayer, she willed it to light up. Magic sunfire engulfed it for a brief moment, and as it dissipated in the surrounding darkness, it left behind a flame that flickered inside the lamppost’s head.

Lucifae watched the flame for a few seconds, making sure the evening patrol had filled the lamppost so its light would last until daybreak, and moved on. The next functional lamppost was more than a hundred meters ahead. She stepped into the darkness again.

Since this was her first time on this route, she counted the lampposts and tried to measure the distance between them. She couldn’t afford to miss a lamppost, or some night patrol might complain about it and Mother Bitterdawn, her superior, would be displeased.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness after walking away from her seventeenth lamppost, the light of a dimmed lantern in the distance surprised her. It barely illuminated a lone figure that leaned against a piece of rubble at the next intersection.

“Maybe one of the survivors,” Lucifae thought and clutched her ceremonial hammer. The poor people who still lingered in the ruined city often stayed away from theomachic patrols, too afraid to be brought in for forced confession. After all, many of them still carried some mark of the warring gods as mutations on their bodies or maladies of the mind, and the theomachists of Whitebay, and especially the inquisitors who handled confessions weren’t known for their leniency. But, would a lone antipriestess intimidate someone so bold as to walk the ruins alone at night? She was not so sure.

She moved closer. Whoever that person was, they had seen the lamppost lighting up, but unless they also had the gift of nightsight, they shouldn’t have been able to make her out as she walked through the shadows.

As she approached, she let out a sigh and her hand fell from her ceremonial hammer. She knew that man. She stepped in the middle of the avenue and willed a tiny mote of light in her palm. Her magic light reflected on his weathered breastplate and the sharpened tip of the spear he held in one hand. He was holding a straw basket in the other, a dimmed lantern at his feet.

“Sergeant Dener,” she spoke softly as not to startle him and bowed her head, closing her eyes for an instant. These were the first words she uttered since confessing her dream. “Good evening.”

He took a sharp breath as he turned towards her. “Antipriestess Carver,” he replied and nodded sharply.

She nodded back and looked down at her ceremonial hammer. There was a long moment of silence.

“I… I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” she said, breaking the silence. “Did your patrol route change as well, Sergeant?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Same old, crater-to-crater patrol for me. The others are probably at Cloudfall Crater by now. But tonight’s my night off. I helped at the family bakery earlier today…” His voice started trailing off, but he looked up at Lucifae, took a sharp breath, and spoke again: “Oh, and you may call me by my first name now that we’re alone and I’m off-duty.”

“Very well, Taran, as long as you do the same,” she said and a tiny smile crossed her lips.

He smiled back. “Alright! You prefer ‘Lucifae’ or ‘Lucy’?”

She remained thoughtful for a moment. This question was more difficult than he probably realized, she thought. “Either is fine,” she said and looked down at her feet, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her ears that betrayed her mixed ancestry. “ ’Lucy’ is the humanized version of the elven ‘Lucifae’ anyway…”

She heard him step closer and a moment later he lifted the straw basket he was holding towards her.

“This is for you, Lucy. Some biscuits from the bakery and a flask of donkey milk. Now that our patrols won’t cross anymore, I thought…” his voice trailed off.

Taran sometimes gave Lucifae a wildflower, a piece of sweet bread, or some other small treat when their night patrols met. Back then, the comments from his militia comrades and the stern looks from the paladins of the Pure Mind that she accompanied made her feel awkward. Yet she was feeling awkward again, even though they were alone now. She could hear the same awkwardness in his voice, and this only intensified her own awkwardness.

“Thank you. I didn’t expect this…” she said and lifted her hand towards the basket. Before touching it, she raised her gaze to look at him. She thought he almost looked scared as she took the basket. Scared not of what might lurk in the ruins at night, but of something else. The basket smelled of fresh butter.

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck with his now-free hand. “Don’t mention it. I thought you might appreciate a bit of encouragement since this is the first night you’re patrolling alone.”

“Oh yes, my patrol.” She nodded to herself. “I should not neglect my duties,” she said and lifted her hand towards a lamppost a few meters away. She whispered a short antiprayer of light and the lamppost lit up.

He lifted his hand on his eyes and turned his gaze away from the bright light. “I’m going to miss that,” he muttered.

“I must be going. I… I really appreciate the gesture, and I am glad to see you tonight,” she said and opened the basket to remove a cloth-wrapped bundle and a flask that sloshed pleasantly.

“No, no. Keep the basket. You don’t wanna crumble the biscuits, or spill donkey milk in your backpack, right? You can return it to me the next time we meet.”

She nodded slowly and returned the bundle and the flask inside the basket. “I understand, but now that our patrol routes won’t intersect anymore, I am not sure when we will meet again, Taran.” The thought somehow made her feel sad.

“There’s a halfling caravan in town, and I was thinking that maybe we can go there together in the next days? If you’d like that, I mean…”

Lucifae felt her heart flutter for a moment as she recalled vague memories of colorful flags and merriment, back when times were simpler. “I… it’s not that I wouldn’t like to accompany you, Taran, but I am a theomachist cleric. My superiors frown upon the… activities that take place in these caravans...” her voice began trailing, but as she lifted her eyes and saw disappointment on his face, she took a deep breath and continued: “But, perhaps if you attend Freeday evening antisacraments, we can meet at the Grey Cathedral right before our patrol duties?”

He nodded vigorously. “Deal! Though the cathedral is huge and I am not sure where to find you…”

She chuckled. “You are right, Taran. Let’s meet at the secondary narthex, the one with the votive candle rows, after the ceremony. I’m there each Freeday, melting the old candles for reuse.” She smiled at him.

He smiled back. A few quiet seconds later, she was feeling the same old awkwardness rising again.

“I have to continue with my patrol,” she said almost apologetically. “This is my first time, and I am not sure how long it is going to take, but I must be back before dawn.”

“I guess this is goodnight then.” Taran bowed his head in a way Lucifae found somewhat cute, and picked up his hooded lamp from the ground.

“Goodnight, Taran.” She bowed back and let the tiny mote of light fade in her palm. She clutched his straw basket in her hands and didn’t look back as she walked past him. For a few moments, she could only hear her own footsteps and her heartbeat, which for some reason was racing.

“See you on Freeday!” He shouted into the night. She turned her head just in time to see the light of his lantern fade into a side road.

She sighed and kept smiling all the way to the next lamppost.

After meeting Taran, she had lost count of the lampposts. Every hour or so, she would encounter another soul wandering the night. Whether they were scavengers, crazed mutants, or just lone wanderers, she didn’t know. She only knew they were not paladins, clerics, or militia guards. So, she stuck to the shadows and avoided them, feeling relieved that none had the gift of nightsight to see her.

In the shadows between two lampposts, she indulged in a few of Taran’s cookies. They were shaped like stubby swords and felt like a delicious break from all the humble bread she was used to eating at the cathedral. She washed them down with some donkey milk.

Hours passed and the clouds that were blotting out the stars had dropped lower, engulfing the ruins in a damp fog. It seemed to thicken with each step she took. It felt unnatural somehow, making her feel uneasy.

By how her feet had started to ache, she reasoned it must be past midnight and she should have been getting close to the end of the avenue and the old port. She could only see a few meters ahead by the time the wooden planks of the old promenade creaked under her feet. She knew she had reached the port, but she couldn’t see the next and probably last lamppost on her patrol.

Then she heard it. A familiar yet unnerving sound. A rhythmical sloshing and splashing that came not from a single point, but a general direction, as if someone was slowly shaking an impossibly large flask in front of her.

“Waves?” she muttered in disbelief and her hand instinctively went for her ceremonial hammer. Only the warring gods were powerful enough to take the sea away from Whitebay. If the sea was back, then —

Lucifae felt a familiar, dreadful burden on her chest. She looked over her shoulder and thought about running away. “No, there’s no escaping the gods anyway,” she told herself and pressed her lips together.

She walked straight ahead through the fog and uttered the short renunciation to the warring god of the sea: “I renounce you, Okeanos, false god of the deep. May you drown in the waves you seek to usurp.”

A moment later, she saw the silhouette of the last lamppost. She took a deep breath and pronounced the antiprayer of light loudly, trying to dispel her own fears along with the darkness.

In the light, she could see past the lamppost where the promenade ended. She took a careful step closer to the edge and gasped at what she saw far below. It was shallow, just a few centimeters deep, but the sea that had left with the city’s destruction had returned.

“Heeeeelp!” A voice from behind startled her. She turned around just in time to see a lone figure stumble towards the lamppost.

It was an old man, a survivor. He wore tattered clothes that were too large for his emaciated body. Only a few strands of grey hair that wiggled as he stumbled forward remained on his head. Lucifae could see the faded image of an octopus, or perhaps a very misshapen squid, tattooed on the old man’s right arm.

“Heeeelp me, guards! Paladins, heeelp!” he shouted just a few meters away from Lucifae. The lamppost’s light reflected on his eyes that were as cloudy as the fog around them.

“May the gods fall.” She uttered the typical theomachist greeting as she stepped closer.

The old man gasped at the sound of her voice. “There ye are!” He pointed a bony finger at her. “Aye, down with them gods! Now quick, get ‘em paladins, lass. This be important!”

“I… I am by myself here. Wha — what seems to be the problem… sir?” she said, fearing she did not sound authoritative enough.

“Then go get some help! The sea’s back! T’is just up to me ankles, but she’s returned, and with her, me old mates are back!” She could see fear in his cloudy eyes. It was contagious.

“I kindly ask you to calm down, good sir, and to follow me back to the Grey Cathedral. You will be safe. My name is Lu —”

“Ye don’t understand! I saw them, and they saw me! They’re here…”

As the old man’s voice trailed off to a whisper, Lucifae could hear steps. Irregular, menacing, and squelching, as if whoever was taking them had just walked out of water. They were coming closer.

Lucifae slowly placed Taran’s basket down. With trembling hands, she strapped her shield on her left forearm and pulled out her ceremonial hammer. Her arms felt heavy.

She looked around. The lamppost’s light outlined figures through the fog. They were moving towards the lamppost.

Her hand trembled from the hammer’s weight as she pointed it at the incoming figures. “M — May the gods fall!”

A low, guttural growl was the only response. Lucifae’s eyes widened in fear. The old man let out a yelp and cowered under the lamppost as the first figure came into view.

It was a sailor, or used to be. Now, sinister magic animated his sea-cursed corpse. Rotting seaweed dangled from his face. His eyes had been eaten out.

“We have to run!” she yelled at the old man.

“They’re everywhere…” he whimpered and hugged his knees.

“I can’t leave you here. Please stand up!” she said and stepped in front of the whimpering old man.

Another sea-cursed sailor stumbled forward. The sea had eaten away most of his flesh, exposing the bone. He was missing a hand. A deep crack ran through his bleached skull.

Suddenly, she heard a familiar voice.

“MY DAUGHTER, YOU STAND AT THE THRESHOLD OF DESTINY.” It was the voice of her dreams, but now it seemed to come from within the lamppost’s light. “COME. EMBRACE YOUR BIRTHRIGHT.”

She felt her vision dimming. The old man’s whimpers seemed more and more distant. “No,” Lucifae whispered. “Not you.”

A third sea-cursed corpse came into view. It was badly decomposing, shedding damp flakes of dead flesh and seaweed as it walked.

Lucifae closed her eyes. She saw the sun.

“WELCOME BACK, CHILD,” the voice spoke through the sun in her mind’s eye. “IT IS TIME. ACCEPT MY POWER, AND THE LIGHT OF DAWN SHALL PIERCE THE HEART OF MIDNIGHT, DESTROYING YOUR ENEMIES.”

Lucifae shook her head. “You are my enemy, Pelia, thief of light,” she whispered. “You and the other warring gods; not your victims.”

“INSOLENT CHILD! YOU LIVE BECAUSE OF ME. YOU BREATHE BECAUSE OF ME. YOUR MAGIC IS MY GIFT. THE LIGHT INSIDE YOU IS MINE!”

“NO!” Lucifae shouted and opened her eyes. The sea-cursed corpses were a few steps away. “I am my own person! You have no power over me!”

She let her hammer dangle from its strap and lifted her hand in antiprayer, but this time it was not towards a lamppost. She pointed at the first sea-cursed sailor and spelled out a verse from the dysangelion of Lethimus, the first of the antiholy scriptures, in the elven tongue: "You will make your rebellious prayer, and they will hear you, and they shall know of your defiance."

Sunfire surrounded the walking corpse, setting it ablaze. As the light dissipated, the corpse was no more.

“YOU CANNOT DEFY ME. THIS IS MY MAGIC. MY LIGHT YOU WIELD.”

“The Eternal Light has no master. The false gods are slaves to the powers they stole,” Lucifae retorted with a verse from the dysangelion of Martana in the tongue of men. Magic fire pierced the night and struck the next walking corpse from above, reducing it to ashes in a flash.

“THE WORDS OF BLASPHEMERS LONG DEAD WILL NOT HELP YOU. YOUR ENEMIES SUROUND YOU AND THEY ARE MANY. YOU ARE HOPELESS WITHOUT ME. ACCEPT MY GIFT AND YOU SHALL BE GRANTED THE POWER TO PREVAIL. REJECT IT AND FACE OBLIVION.”

“Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would crumble to pieces, I would still renounce the gods,” she spoke the written word of Dysangelist Krotius in the dwarven tongue as she channeled her defiance against Pelia towards the sea-cursed sailors.

The Eternal Light surged unbound through her body, expanding outwards into a storm of sunfire. She could feel the goddess’ wrath as her magic set the night ablaze around her.

For an instant, it was as if she was walking under the morning sun. Then a tug at her right leg brought her back to reality. It was the old man. Her magic had spared him.

“Thank ye, theomachist,” he said between sobs. Ash and cinders swirled around them as she helped him to his feet.

“Come, sir. I will guide you. We must return to the Grey Cathedral and confess what happened tonight. We… we just opposed the will of two gods.”

“Two gods? We’re doomed!” He looked at the verge of another breakdown.

She shook her head. “No. We just get to live another day, which is more than most people can hope for,” she said and looked around. The fog had started clearing and she could see the sea withdrawing again. Off the promenade, in the distance, she could make out a large shape. A crustacean of gigantic proportions that slowly lumbered its way to the shore, trundling through the wet sand as the sea receded.

“Can you run?” she asked, but the old man had already bolted up Seaspray Avenue. She took a deep breath and followed, knowing there was no turning back.

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