Saintslayer (Lucifae Carver, Antipriestess of Light Book 1) Chapter 4 (Patreon)

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Lucifae woke up with a mix of surprise and relief that her sleep has been dreamless and peaceful. No gods had come to torment her. After last night’s battle, Father Matias, the Keymaster, had placed her in a spacious room in the Elder Wing, not far from the quarters of the elder antipriests themselves. She reasoned it must be shielded against divine influence to protect the most important residents of the Grey Cathedral.

And now she was apparently one of them. The thought made her head spin.

Last night felt like the longest in Lucifae’s life. From fighting cannibals alongside Taran, Kala, and young Alric; to meeting the foul-mouthed orc paladin Rindar and destroying the shadowy agent of Nelchior alongside the Antihierarch himself.

She sat up on what she thought must have been the most comfortable bed she could remember ever sleeping on and rubbed her eyes. She felt rested, but also somewhat confused about what to do next. Looking around, she noticed a sliver of light coming through the heavy curtains in front of the single window in the room.

“Daylight…” she whispered in awe as she stood up and approached the window. Slowly, she lifted her hand a breath away from the sunray. Many years ago, Mother Bitterdawn had warned her to avoid angering Pelia and forbidden her from walking in the sun. But now Lucifae had already angered the warring goddess of light…

She took a deep breath and reached for the light. The sunray touched her fingers and then the palm of her hand. She flinched, anticipating pain or some other terrible divine retribution, but felt nothing except for a pleasant warmth. She smiled.

A knock on the door surprised her.

Lucifae closed the curtain tightly and opened the door. It was Sister Kimmi Nunnal, an antipriestess of light Lucifae knew since they were both children. Her face got lost in her auburn hair as she bowed deeply in front of Lucifae.

“May the gods fall!” she said with conviction without making eye contact.

“And may we walk free once more. Hello, Kimmi.” Lucifae replied softly.

“Antipriestess Carver, Mother Bitterdawn requests your presence as soon as possible.”

The unexpected formality took Lucifae by surprise. “I am still the same person you grew up with. The fact that I happened to tangle in the vile plans of the gods doesn’t change who I am,” she said, feeling somewhat awkward.

Kimmi smiled and looked up. “I’m sorry, Lucy. Everyone is talking about how you and a noble paladin saved the Antihierarch from a shadow-monster. It’s like the stories in the scriptures!”

Lucifae smiled back. “They are exaggerating. High Cleric Abaram was in no need to be saved. I just happened to follow the godban— I mean the theomachist paladin Rindar who fought alongside the Antihierarch…”

“Don’t be modest now, Lucy! Krotius teaches us that ‘Humility is good, but flaunting your victories against the gods is better.’ ”

Lucifae shook her head. “I just happened to be at the right place; that is all. I am sure you would have done the same. You may tell Mother Bitterdawn that I will get ready and meet her at once.”

Kimmi’s face lit up and she nodded eagerly. “Of course!” she said and bowed again.

Lucifae bowed back. “Walk in the counsel of the ungodly,” she said and closed the door.

Fifteen minutes later, she knocked on Mother Bitterdawn’s heavy wooden door.

“Enter.”

Lucifae pushed the heavy door open and sunlight hit her face. The afternoon sun filled Mother Bitterdawn’s office with bright light. It felt almost like one of Lucifae’s dream visions, but this sun did not speak in Pelia’s voice and did not threaten her with eternal damnation. This was the real sun. Just warmth. Just light.

Mother Bitterdawn was standing on her balcony. In front of her, sunlight set the prismatic desert ablaze in a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors. The sight of the sparkling sand took Lucifae back to her childhood, those few precious memories of her mother…

“Beautiful, is it not?” Mother Bitterdawn’s voice, less stern than usual, brought Lucifae back to the present.

“Indeed it is,” Lucifae said as she stepped into the sunbathed room.

“May the gods fall, my daughter,” Mother Bitterdawn said with a smile as she turned towards Lucifae.

“And may we walk free once more, Mother,” Lucifae replied and returned the smile as she closed the door behind her.

“Congratulations are in order, my daughter. In a single night, you achieved what others spend years pursuing. It may have not been your intention, but you have proven yourself in front of the Antihierarch himself.”

“I did what any theomachist cleric would have done in my place,” Lucifae said, lowering her gaze to the floor.

“And in the process dispelled all doubts about your conviction. You see, my daughter, rarely does a god focus so much on a mortal without reason or provocation. Sadly, it is often the mortal’s own failing theomachic conviction that calls the attention of the gods. As Krotius teaches us: ‘Fortify your mind and steel your will, because the gods prey on the weak of mind.’ So, naturally there were those among us who thought that your persistent visions of Pelia were a sign of weakness, or perhaps a hidden faith in her. Now, you have proven the contrary.”

Lucifae nodded, keeping her eyes down. “In fighting the gods, I only fulfil my duty towards my fellow mortals.”

“You quote the scriptures well. A virtue that will prove invaluable in your theomachic mission.”

Lucifae looked up, past Mother Bitterdawn and through her balcony into the colorful sand of Prisma Desert and the lands beyond. She was barely twenty-one years old, and even though she knew some antipriests were sent on their yearlong walkabout, their first mission away from the cathedral, at an even younger age, she felt completely unprepared. She remembered her childhood friend Donith. He and Lucifae grew up together in the cathedral until one day, almost ten years ago, he just disappeared; a half-dark elf teenager traveling alone across Naam. She never found out if he was sent on a mission and never returned or just struck out on his own. She hoped Donith was alive and safe, wherever he was.

Mother Bitterdawn nodded at Lucifae. She was not smiling anymore. “Sending a cleric on their first mission is always a bittersweet moment. I would have waited for Pelia’s anger to subside, but the Antihierarch insisted that I should send you out as soon as possible. You know you made quite an impression on His Eminence.”

Lucifae took a deep breath and for a moment thought about protesting. Most antipriests had years to plan their theomachic walkabout with their superiors to achieve something worthwhile, but she did not have the luxury of time. Instead of raising that subject, she just asked: “Where should I go?”

“Wherever you believe you can make a difference. This is the meaning of the first theomachic mission, the ‘walkabout’ as some antipriests call it. You will go out in Naam, our tormented world, to spread the word of the dysangelists and perhaps oppose the false gods and their vile followers, as you have recently done. You must use your judgment and all you have learned in your years in the Grey Cathedral to find a worthy cause. There are no orders apart from the teachings of the dysangelists and the acts of the theomachic heroes who came before.”

Lucifae nodded. In theory, she could just spend a year as a healer in a village somewhere in the Free Realms and return to the cathedral, but deep inside she knew she had to do more. She felt she owed it to all those people who have lost their lives in the mad cosmic war between the gods. “When do I start?” she asked.

Mother Bitterdawn smiled again. “In a sense, you already started two nights ago. You shall receive your formal promotion to missionary during tomorrow’s antisacraments, but consider yourself a cleric-errant starting now.”

Lucifae’s eyes widened. “Oh, tomorrow is Freeday!” She spoke her thoughts out loud, remembering that she had asked Taran to meet her after tomorrow’s antisacraments. She feared that if she had to leave soon, she might not get to see him for at least a year. The thought made her sad.

“Indeed, child,” Mother Bitterdawn nodded. “Tomorrow is Freeday and it marks the first day of your wandering year. I understand that these might all be too sudden for you, so I am offering you my guidance at this fragile beginning of your mission.”

“It would be an honor.” Lucifae was unsure what this guidance would involve.

Mother Bitterdawn approached her office and sat down with a sigh. “You have witnessed the god of lies implanting a shadow in the Antihierarch’s quarters, so you understand that the false gods and their followers can hide almost everywhere. Only antisanctified sites, like some areas of our cathedral, and places where magic refuses to work are free from divine influence. Even Freycrown, the defiant metropolis, is rife with godly machinations. Therefore the question is, where does one begin?”

“To fight the false gods, we must first cleanse ourselves from their evil influence.” Unsure, Lucifae quoted the scriptures once more.

Mother Bitterdawn raised an eyebrow and then nodded. “Indeed, the dysangelist teaches us to start from within, which for some is a never-ending battle with divine temptations. But assuming one has this battle under control, at least temporarily, then where does one look for divine influence after they have cleansed themselves?”

“Our fellow mortals. Those around us who might not have the means to fight back the gods.”

Mother Bitterdawn nodded. “Very true. Those who don’t fight the gods are more likely to join them. So, this is where you should start.”

Lucifae suppressed a frown. This was not what she had meant, but she knew she should not argue with Mother Bitterdawn unless the matter was of grave importance. Instead, she nodded. “I understand.”

“The poor people who linger in the city’s ruins; the citizens of the so-called Harbortown and Marketown, the squatters, the survivors, and the hermits, have all been tested numerous times. That is not to say they are beyond suspicion, as your encounter with the heretic cannibals only yesternight proves. But, as a whole, they are our people. However, visitors, especially of the more… ‘unusual’ kind, are always suspicious.”

“I see…”Lucifae said, though she had her doubts.

“Know that a caravan of outcasts, opportunists, and freaks, led by the half-grown, has come to our city. This roaming band of… ‘halflings’ and their accomplishes is a nursery of lies, deviance, and bizarre magic. Be warned that for all their glamor and the superficial pleasures they promise, the half-grown are secretive and deceitful. The gods largely ignore them, which makes them even more suspicious, and all sorts of unsavory individuals, including faithful heretics, may hide among their deviant midst. This is where you should begin, my daughter.” Mother Bitterdawn took sheet of parchment paper from a metal case and wrote something on it with her ornate pen.

Lucifae averted her eyes as not to look what Mother Bitterdawn was writing. She doubted an entire group of people could all be deviant and deceitful, but chose not to complicate matters by expressing her doubts right then. “I have never met a halfling before and I do not speak their tongue,” she said and thought of Taran. During her first patrol two nights ago, he had suggested they went to the halfling caravan together and she had declined. Now, she could invite him instead. She smiled at the thought.

“Worry not, child. They speak the tongue of men with much eloquence, yet little honesty. The diviners have already gleaned something suspicious in that caravan. A paladin’s divine sense could uncover godly machinations if taken to the caravan, but you too should use the Eternal Light to detect deviant magic there.” Mother Bitterdawn channeled a tiny mote of the Eternal Light and with a flash she burned the ink onto the parchment before offering it to Lucifae. “This writ gives you authority over any one paladin of your choice in Whitebay. Use it well. If you can stomach it, I suggest you take the orc theomachist paladin, that Rindar of Little Faith, with you. He is a constant source of disturbance and I know the Keymaster would very much like to see him gone from the cathedral.”

“I… I would gladly fight alongside Rindar of Little Faith again. He may lack the refinement of a paladin of the Pure Mind, but his theomachic conviction is indisputable.”

Mother Bitterdawn frowned. “Any paladin whose conviction can be disputed is not worthy of the title. Now, with what I told you in mind, and the guidance of the dysangelists, go forth, my daughter.”

“I… I will do my best. ‘As long as there is defiance, there is a way.’ ” Lucifae bowed and left the sunlit office.

Lucifae asked around and a few minutes later found Rindar in one of the refectories. The large orc sat in full armor alone on a bench. A bowl of food, definitely not humble bread, steamed in front of him and several empty bowls lay discarded around it. Next to him, Lucifae saw his battleaxe, always at arm’s reach.

“Lucy! Come have some fuckin’ crab! Hey, cooks, bring more of the godcrab I smashed, will ya?” Rindar shouted, interrupting the cantor on duty as he was singing a passage from the Acts of Antisaint Skolimod Saltriver, the ancient hero who led the dwarven exodus. Three paladins of the Pure Mind two tables away eyed Rindar with obvious disdain.

“May the gods fall,” she said as she approached and bowed her head. Even seated, he was slightly taller than her.

“Yeah, fuck them!” he shouted back before gulping down the contents of the bowl in front of him.

“You are supposed to reply with ‘and may we walk free once more’. It’s a quote from the Dysangelion of Lethimus,” she whispered, hoping to inspire some decorum to the rowdy paladin as she sat oppose of him at the table.

Rindar nodded and bit his lower lip. “Now that makes sense. But, ol’ Leth sure said to fuck the gods up, eh?”

The cantor shot a worried glance at Rindar and tentatively resumed chanting the deeds of the ancient dwarf antisaint.

Lucifae shook her head. “Not in these words. The first dysangelist never used… that particular term throughout his scripture. I am not even sure such a word existed in the elven tongue during Dysangelist Lethimus’ time.”

Rindar guffawed. “Hah! Old elves haven’t even invented fucking back then? No wonder the fuckin’ gods fucked the world up!”

Lucifae sighed. “It is not that simple, Rindar…”

A young apprentice approached with two steaming bowls and a wooden spoon. Rindar grabbed a bowl, and the apprentice hastily put the other bowl and the spoon down in front of Lucifae before bolting away. She looked down at her bowl. Chunks of crab meat swam in a steamy broth. The smell made Lucifae realize how hungry she was.

“It’s never simple with the fuckin’ gods! So, let’s eat and be happy we live to fight another day, kid!” He raised his bowl to his face and downed its contents in three gulps.

Lucifae tasted a spoonful and then several more. The crab meat was delicious, though she thought the broth could do with more seasoning. She quickly finished her bowl and turned to Rindar who was trying to pound out a dent on his horned helmet with his bare hands.

“Rindar of Little Faith,” she addressed him as soon as she put her spoon down. “I have a mission and I would like to ask you to —”

“Fuck yeah, I’m in!”

“But — but you didn’t even let me finish my sentence!” Lucifae protested, but felt relief she wouldn’t have to use the writ Mother Bitterdawn gave her. She had different plans for it.

“Don’t care. I’m in. You’re going to find some fatherfuckin’ godfreaks and you want me with ya to fuck them up, right? So I’m in. Let’s do this!”

Lucifae sighed. “I am not sure what we are going to find at the halfling caravan, but I would appreciate if —”

“Oh my bloody tusks! A halfling caravan with food and music and gambling and clean women? FUCK YEAH!” he shouted, interrupting the cantor who gasped in shock and quickly gathered his antiprayer books before storming out of the refectory.

“Please calm down,” Lucifae said softly. “I don’t know what we will find there, but I do know that I would appreciate an ally I can depend on to… ‘sniff out godstench’.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s bloody go then,” Rindar said and stood up, shoving his bench aside.

“Not yet. I have to make some preparations. Could you meet me under the statue of Saintslayer Sir Edron Loys, close to where we’ve first met, as soon as the sun touches the horizon?”

“Yeah! This gives me some time to prepare my Holybang deck to make some easy money off those halflings, hah!” Rindar said and straightened the bench to sit down again. “You know, I’ve met this Edron Loys back when he was a godbanger like me and before he took the never-fuck-again and never-drink-again oaths.”

Lucifae felt the eyes of several paladins of the Pure Mind on her and Rindar. “I’d love to hear about your meeting with Saintslayer Sir Loys, but I must prepare for my mission. We may continue this afternoon…” she said and bowed out of the refectory.

Uncertain about the future, she spent the next few hours preparing for her walkabout. She visited the cathedral’s storehouses and common libraries, and picked up a new backpack, a blanket, a clerical robe, three sets of undergarments, a worn antiprayer book, a bottle of ink, an ink pen, four sheets of paper, and few other basic supplies for her theomachic walkabout.

Then, with a heavy heart, she walked up to her old cell. A single scrap of charred wood hung from the door hinges. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. Pelia’s fire had destroyed everything in the cell, reducing the few belongings she had not been carrying with her to cinders. Yet, something glimmered faintly in the evening light, amidst the ash where her modest table used to be. For a moment she was perplexed, but a smile dawned on her face as she recognized the trinket that had survived Pelia’s fire. Without hesitation, she moved closer and picked up her quartz pyramid, her oldest possession. Small enough to fit in the palm of a child, it was the only memento from the first few years of her life in the elven kingdom of Khemhotep. She remembered her mother’s grey-blue eyes and her last smile as she placed the pyramid in her hand, but she could not remember what she had whispered in her ear before bidding her goodbye. A confused half-elf child less than four years of age, she had clung onto the small pyramid, her only toy, as the wagons crossed the Prisma Desert…

Out of an almost forgotten habit, she raised her quartz pyramid to catch sunlight, as she had done so many times as a child. She felt nostalgic as she watched the pyramid glimmer in the evening light. As she held the pyramid, the sunlight inside it coalesced into a faint arrow that pointed towards the prismatic desert. Since she first discovered this curious property, wrought by some forgotten elven magic, the arrow’s direction never changed no matter how much she tilted and moved the pyramid around, always pointing to the west and slightly to the south.

She sighed and focused her thoughts on the present. She had work to do. Carefully, she packed her quartz pyramid in her backpack next to her antiprayer book. As the sun was about to touch the horizon and she was finally ready to leave, she made a silent promise to one day follow the arrow of light to wherever it could be pointing.

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