Uploaded 26 June 2013
Last Edited: 25 July 2013
Dedicated for the cover =)
Ina was scrubbing the floors near the kitchen when Sewell found her. She never heard him; she just noticed a long, thin shadow climb up the wall in front of her and knew it was him. She tensed, waiting for him to speak, but he remained silent. When she couldn't bare the silence, she turned toward him. The only sound was the rustling of silk and of folded paper falling to the floor. It landed immediately in front of her. She made no move to take it. Sewell only needed to clear his throat to get her to speak.
"It was that artist who gave it to me!" She said all at once. "The one at the temple."
"When."
"About a fortnight ago." She looked up at his expressionless face.
"What did she say?"
"Nothing. She doesn't speak." Ina began fumbling through her pockets. "This is the only other thing she gave me." She pulled out another crumpled piece of paper and handed it up to Sewell.
For when you see him... Was all that was written in neat, angular letters.
"The woman is mad," she blurted out. "I only held on to them to humor her."
Ina kneeled before him, stammering out reasons why she held on to the papers, but Sewell wasn't concerned with Ina's excuses. He was concerned about who had knowledge of him coming to this inn. He didn't even expect to be there. Seers had a troublesome kind of power. The fact that she wanted to be known was more troublesome.
He furrowed his brow in annoyance. Ina fell silent.
"Her name?"
"They call her Sable."
Sewell motioned toward the paper on the floor; it floated up to his open palm.
"Thanks."
Ina watched in amazement as he walked away.
The innkeeper still sat on his bench when Sewell arrived in the common room. A fire had been kindled and the large room was now filled with noise as most of the guests had come down for dinner. It was approaching twilight. The innkeeper called out to Sewell as he made to leave the building.
"Honored guest!"
Sewell paused and looked back.
"You must stay for dinner. I insist! You won't find a better meal elsewhere."
The innkeeper's fat lips parted in a smile.
"I have business to attend to in the city."
"Oh? Surely it can wait. Our kitchen won't be open all night, you know."
"I'm afraid not, I have an appointment I can't miss."
Once more, Sewell made leave, but then hesitated.
"Are there any floors below this one?"
"Just a cellar" The innkeeper answered. "And I would ask that guests keep out, you understand?"
"Yes, of course." Sewell gave a slight smile. "Good evening."
Outside the black sky faded into orange at the horizon and the city's gas street lamps were already lit. No stars were visible; the city gave off too much light. The narrow streets were still busy though many of the merchants began to close their shops; the taverns were starting to open.
Sewell began weaving his way through the city. Although he didn't know where the temple was located, he smelled faint stench of piety mixing with the dense air of the city. Almost every temple smelled the same, but this one was exceptionally putrid.
Sewell found the road leading to the temple with very little difficulty. As he climbed the stairs that were carved into the hill and lead up to the temple, he wondered if he should have brought an offering. The thought caused a smirk to flicker across his face.
He would be tossed in the void before he paid homage to Cyrus.
And he wasn't going to allow it to come to that.
The smell of the temple felt thick. Sewell stood just outside the entrance; unlike everything in the city, the temple was constructed of black stone. There were no priests outside. Not unusual. He could sense that the place hadn't been consecrated properly in years. Also not unusual. He would be able to enter without any problems.
He passed over the threshold and met with little resistance. His limbs felt heavier and his senses were clouded by the stink--small inconveniences.
The cella of the temple was a large, rectangular room, with a high, vaulted ceiling and divided by two colonnades which flanked the nave. Sewell had dared to enter a few temples before, but none like this. There were no ornaments, and the architecture was plain, but the entire room, floor to ceiling, was one giant painting. He was, it seemed, standing upon many of his brothers who had been banished to the void. The walls were chaotic with battle--spirits at each other's throats. The ceiling showed the creation of the worlds, the death of The Mother. Portraits of Cyrus and Hyram presided over their altars where there would normally be statues. Both their gazes were fixed on the Star of Avalon.
That was unusual.
There was a creak of a door being opened and shut. Someone coming from the adytum. Not a priest. The footsteps were too light. It was a woman. Sewell turned to face her. Tall, thin, black hair, blue eyes, and most certainly the artist. Unlike Ina and the other people of the city, her face was clean and unpainted.
She doesn't speak. Sewell recalled what Ina said.
If that were true, the gods played a cruel joke on her.
Sable bowed and made her way toward the demon.
It seemed she had brought an offering.
She pulled from her servant's robes a gold locket, old and tarnished, and she passed it over to Sewell. He turned it over; there were no markings. He tried to open it; it was locked. He gave it a sniff.
Where do she get this?
His eyes grew wide.
As if Sable had heard his question, she tugged on the sleeve of his robe and pointed up at the ceiling. The Star of Avalon.
It was the key that would release her from her prison.
The Goddess of Chaos.
