The Paradise Gate

Ch. 11.1 A Divine Composition

Lycinder's lower lip trembled with the laugh he suppressed, the light of hundreds of votive candles dancing in his eyes. In the dim glow of the cathedral's interior, their delphinium hue had turned to a dark and indeterminate shade that invited Dalli to jump into their depths. No mention was made of a soft landing, but they did promise she'd enjoy the fall.

The ringing of bells signaled the start of the ceremony.

Out of habit ingrained since birth, Dalli turned with the crowd to face the altar as the gathered parishioners began to sing the processional hymn.

Several clergymen approached the altar, followed by a man and a woman— Ahlgren's daughter, Elin, and her husband, Dalli assumed. Each parent held the hand of a small boy, while a toddler in a robe of simple white sat propped on her mother's hip.

This must be Finna, the girl of the hour.

Dalli couldn't remember the last time she'd witnessed one of these ceremonies, and attending any service at all had not been on her list of activities to pursue once she regained her freedom, but there was a melancholic sort of comfort that came from hearing the old songs and going through the old motions that every child of Tyr'Tiel knew by rote.

This took her by surprise; had this invitation not come at the spur of the moment, Dalli would have avoided it at almost any cost, but now that she was here, it wasn't as difficult to endure as she'd have expected.

Or maybe it was just easier to focus on the sound of the choir and the pageantry than it was to think about the bodies of her parents lying in the garden just outside the doors of the western transept, so mangled they could only be identified by the engraving on her father's signet ring.

Rather than pay attention to what was being said, Dalli let her eyes wander. The Great Cathedral really was a marvel to behold with its rust-red stone towers, vaulted ceilings, and flying buttresses. It was built from a type of stone found only in the far north, and building the Church's most magnificent edifice had been a fantastically difficult and expensive endeavor back in the early days of the empire.

While it was considered one of mankind's greatest achievements and one of the proudest gems of Tyr'Tiel, the construction of the Great Cathedral had been mired in scandal.

It was said that First Chantor Hjellmar the Ham Fist convinced Emperor Arnestag Tyrwulf IV to build it while he was on his deathbed, succumbing to a pox after a life spent whoring, hunting, and handing out imperial gold to his karls.

The Ham Fist acquired that moniker in the fighting pits of the Imperial City before a blow to the head had rendered him heavily concussed and intolerably pious. If Arnestag IV had one moment of moderate discernment in a long and reckless reign, it was the realization that one way to quiet the ranting of a truly devout man outside his palace in the wee hours of the morning would be to make him First Chantor.

It did mean, however, that he was forced to spend his last weeks of life listening to the Ham Fist's urging that the ailing emperor might spare himself the eternity he was almost certain to spend in the darkest of Aethral Hell-Realms and pass straight through the Paradise Gate if he would but do one extraordinary thing for the Church.

Hjellmar prophesied that Emperor Arnestag IV could win the enduring favor of their Creator for Tyr'Tiel if he built the Church a new home, an edifice of such magnificent proportion that none could doubt the righteousness of their creed.

He also told the emperor that it would be a sign of great piety if he had this cathedral constructed from the bloodstone of the lands of their ancestors to the north, in old Andefjell, and that this would guarantee that he would live forever glorified in the memory of his people.

The fact that Arnestag's people despised him was no secret, and the emperor's vanity could not abide this. The project began immediately.

The expense of mining all of that bloodstone and moving it over the Worstegg Mountains... it beggared the imagination, Dalli reflected as she admired the masonry around her with its sweeping lines and intricate carvings.

She realized she'd lost the thread of the ceremony happening at the front when a noise of surprise rippled through the crowd around her.

"...is a children's service, after all," one of the clergymen was saying, "so, we've granted the family's request: instead of a direct reading from the Book of Song, Chantor Janneck will tell the story, himself."

Another ripple spread through the congregants, and this time it was one of approval; every Tyr'Tielan had heard the opening chapter of the Book of Song a thousand times, or so it seemed, so a fresh recounting of those ancient words was a welcome change to a ceremony that, while purportedly for children, usually put them to sleep or set them to fussing.

The family standing before the altar knelt on the pillows provided as the chantor came forward in his plain robes of drab brown. The old man smiled down at them with kind eyes hooded by the soft folds of a face that had weathered many winters.

"Welcome, all," he began, "and especially to Miss Finna, here, for whom we gather today. It is a joyous and sacred thing that you all do in witnessing the Blessing of this child and the dedication of her life to the path of His grace.

Now, as Brother Jacobsen mentioned, today I am going to tell you a story..."

                                                                     * * *

A/N: This was a wee, bite-sized chapterlet, but its companion shall join it momentarily! If you're enjoying these two, their antics, and this little snapshot of Tyr'Tielan history and culture, please give some love to that little grey star! And, of course, I'd always love to hear your thoughts.

If anyone's wondering what happened to the bells, I'm having technical issues with those wonderful scene break graphics the marvelous lelakayy made for this story, but I'll edit them in asap. 

xoxo,

Evie