C. Sebastian Nutt
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Chapter 167 - Crypt of Light and Shadow
🕑 Added 2025-05-17 18:02:01 +0000 UTC3 Days After the Coffin Closed
The most grand cathedral in the city of Danfalla lay in the northern district, a building of dark brick and inlaid gold dedicated to the Goddess Glis’Merinda. Safe from exposure to the destitution beyond the district's inner wall, the austere building stands tall in the daytime like a sentinel of propriety, every bush trimmed in perfect form, every speck of dirt dutifully removed from the pathstones leading toward the front door. Even the small lawn outside the building, a rarity in Danfalla, stands perfectly even and green throughout the year. Here, the goddess of storms admires constancy.
Dovik finds the rising columns that capture and throw back the sounds of his footfalls more intimidating than he would like to admit. The idea of churches has never sat well with him. Since he was little, his tutors spoke about the gods with a detached but academic insight, while his father spoke about them as rivals who stepped onto the path of power ahead of him. What kind of relation can you have to such a powerful entity that isn’t based upon that very power in some way? Nothing personal, nothing human.
An elven woman at the back of the church catches his attention, waving a hand covered in red silk to point him toward a side door. The sepulcher beneath the church is somehow more silent than the reverent gathering place above. The sepulcher stands open in a huge room of white stone, a crystal high above shining down like a cold star in the underground chamber. Beneath a canopied roof made of marble, four deathbeds of pearlescent stone sit in shade. Three stand empty; the last holding a body covered in a white sheet. At the head, a bit of red hair falls away past the cover, that small bit of color made harsh by the contrast of the white room itself.
Jor’Mari stands, his eyes cast down at the death shroud of marble white covering her. His robes are black, so utterly dark that even the most unobservant can identify his grief if looking at his face isn’t enough. He barely notices Dovik’s intrusion, his eyes flickering back and forth at the sheet in front of him, his mind racing to make sense of the obvious conclusion laid out before him.
“Your sister is worried,” Dovik says. The stones echo with his approach, the resounding sound trapped in the white room beneath the cathedral. “She asked if I could speak with you.”
“And what would you speak about?” Jor asks, not bothering to lift his head.
Dovik releases a held breath, climbing the few steps of white marble before stepping into the shadow of the sepulcher. “I’ve been trying to think of that the whole way here.” Against his intentions, his eyes flick down, landing on the place in the shroud outlining a hand. A thought passes his mind, what could have happened, a thought he hasn’t been able to put down for days. An ache settles in his chest just above his stomach, and his jaw tightens, the next breath in a work of will to banish the pain. Dovik lays his hand on the shroud, feeling the curve of the fingers beneath–cold. “Things seem to be moving in the city.”
“Things are always moving in Danfalla,” Jor’Mari says, his voice a whisper. “I’ve been told that my whole life. You know, I saw my first political killing when I was eleven. A councilman who had been pushing hard for some change in trading policy was stabbed in the back at the theatre. He fell from the balcony, almost landing on the stage. I saw the whole thing from our box. Saw them arrest the killer before he made it to the front door, saw the guard execute the man even after they had him in irons. And then, after the body had been led away, the actors went back to their performance. That is what let me know that life here is so cheap. It only matters who you are here, and sometimes even that isn’t enough of a shield.”
“I don’t think that this was done by this branch family,” Dovik says, shaking his head. “It doesn’t make sense. All the others killed were scouts with the 4th and 5th armies. If this was a vendetta against Charlene, why would they include so many others?”
Jor’s eyes flick up, settling on Dovik. For a moment, just a fraction of time, Dovik swears he sees pools of dark hiding in the man’s bright pupils. “Jess said that she saw Priscilla at the celebration. Charlene went after her.”
“That’s true.” Dovik scratches his head. “Do you think this is the best place to be speaking about it? You have been here for more than a day.”
“What is wrong with here?” Jor’Mari reaches down, running his hand over the shroud. “If you think that she wouldn’t want us to plan against her killers and avenge her, you didn’t know her at all.”
“You are right about that. She had a terrible temper.”
Something in the words steals the conversation from the room. The two men linger, lost in their thoughts, staring at a nice sheet covering the body in front of them. What was there to say, really? Time passing in the shadow beneath the white light of the chamber takes on an ethereal quality. Dovik loses track of it, coming to understand how Jor might just stand here for days on end.
“I’ve figured it out,” Jor’Mari says.
The return of sound almost makes Dovik flinch. He finds the man staring at him once more when he looks up from the shroud. “What is that?”
“The Ca’Mari are tied into the inception of this beast tide somehow. Charlene told me something on the way back to Danfalla, told me about her encountering a woman capable of manipulating monsters. It struck me as odd at the time, her insistence that there was someone behind this beast tide, her asking me to keep it a secret. Now, I am beginning to see it.
“They push against the main family, creating incidents in the bureaucracy of the city, disrupting our attempts to keep things orderly. At the same time, my father falls ill from some unknown disease, and a beast tide hits the duchy. There is too much coincidence with it all. I wouldn’t be surprised if Priscilla bumped into us on that rooftop on purpose, looking to start a personal disagreement with me for the sake of making tensions rise higher. They are behind this, the whole family.”
“Your father is sick?” Dovik asks, the abundance of new information only adding questions to his long list. “Wait, you think their entire family is behind the beast tide?”
“Who else would profit? The Ca’Mari have been jealous of the main family for decades. The power of the Mari has always been our family’s knowledge and ability to summon and tame demons. It has made us one of the three most powerful family forces in the empire, and Delva Ca’Mari has practiced the art for more than a century. After my father and eldest brother, you could say that she is the most powerful summoner in the duchy. Could there be a demon lurking somewhere in the hells capable of creating a beast tide? I wouldn’t doubt it.
“This is a power play, a political scheme to discredit the main line of Mari as the Ca’Mari better position themselves. They will take the damages and loss of life suffered in the past and future months and use them to appeal to the royal line for a change in the management of the duchy. That is what they are after.”
“Would a noble family here in the capital cause so much damage just to usurp your father?” Dovik asks. At Jor’s look of incredulity, he sighs. “Stupid question.”
“Then she blackened one of their eyes.” Jor runs his hand along the shroud again, a tear slipping free and running down the side of his face. “That little woman, Priscilla, couldn’t see what she was dealing with. They snuffed out her beautiful fire. For that alone, I would end their entire line.”
“And the scouts?”
“Some other part of their plan,” Jor dismisses. “They killed Fas’ mistress too. He thinks they are trying to send a message while concealing where they are sending their forces. They killed all the ones scheduled to head north-east, only picking out those from the other companies.”
“That seems sloppy of them.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Jor squeezes the hand beneath the sheet, shaking out a breath as he lets go, finally stepping away. “I know who is behind this. That is all I need to know.”
“You mean, you assume to know.”
Jor’Mari cuts a wicked glance as he moves past Dovik, taking the steps down and into the light. The man in black makes it halfway to the door before Dovik shouts after him. “She wouldn’t want to be interred here. Charlene hated the elven faith.”
The words halt Jor’Mari. He stands, staring at the doors leading from the room for a long moment before gazing up at the shining star hanging overhead. “You visited her family. You know where they are.”
“I do.”
Jor’Mari nods. “We will go to them together when the crisis is over and the barrier has been let down. She will have the burial she deserves. I go now to make certain that her spirit has no reason to linger, to put her vengeance to rest.” Without another word, Jor’Mari slips from the room.
Dovik takes in a deep breath, forcing out a smooth jet of air despite the pain in his chest. For a moment, he imagines all those whom he has seen killed lying on the stone slabs before him: his cousin, killed by a metal monster, his uncle, killed by his father’s hand, and now, one of his dearest friends, killed by some unknown person. The final slab sits empty, and Dovik wonders just how long it might stay that way.
“We never should have come here,” he whispers. “Never.”
