Chapter 107 – Walking In Shadows

Mirian found herself moving down, then up, then spiraling around, then going down again. She passed several rooms with closed doors, trying in vain to place where she was on the map she’d studied, but the cave network of the Grand Sanctum had rapidly disoriented her.

Soon enough she passed other acolytes and murmured the Ominian’s first prayer to them as they passed. When she saw a priest, she had to say, “Let Their words still echo,” which was the second prayer. For a bishop, it was, “Carry Their memory.” She thought it must get old to hear those words again and again, but they were a core part of the Luminate tradition. She supposed they probably got used to it, and after a while, probably sounded as natural as ‘hello.’ Thankfully, no one noticed anything odd about her.

As she passed the Hall of Remembrance, she realized she’d gone too far west, so took a right, but that hall ended up spiraling until it hit a staircase, then the hall went south again. She needed to go north.

She turned around, and nearly collided with a man who had been behind her. “My apologies.” Shit, a bishop, she thought. “Carry Their memory,” she muttered, and went to move past him.

“Another new face!” the bishop said. “A recent arrival?”

“That’s right,” she said.

“Ah. From where?”

Mirian hesitated. “Alkazaria,” she said, figuring that, statistically speaking, there were plenty of people arriving from the second largest temple complex regularly.

“Of course. I should have guessed. And you are lost, I assume.”

She smiled. “I’m afraid so.”

“You must be looking for lunch. The Hall of Bonding is this way. I was just heading there myself. I know this tunnel looks like it goes the wrong way, but it actually has a slight curve to it, and links up with the main hall.” He chuckled. “You get used to all the twists and turns. Eventually. You are…?”

“Oh! Micael,” Mirian said.

“Ah, a good name. I’m Bishop Lancel.”

She didn’t actually want to go to lunch with him, but she didn’t exactly have a good excuse not to. A bishop, unlike an acolyte, would know the routines of the temple too well. Besides, the more I learn about this place, the easier it will be to infiltrate again.

Fortunately, Lancel didn’t interrogate her, just started rambling about little tricks he’d learned on how to navigate the temple, which Mirian only half-listened to, and how he liked to get to know all the acolytes in the temple, even if their stay was brief. Soon enough, though, they were entering the main hall. Here, a larger section of the cave had been turned into architecture that was actually fathomable. From the map, she knew living quarters were west of them, the sanctum she’d come in from southeast, and the instructional rooms east. Again, the gaudiness of the decorations bothered her. Gold leaf brushed the murals and statues, while the chandeliers above had gleaming crystals. The hall had several glass display cases full of bejeweled instruments of the Elder Gods, including chalices, spikes, lanterns, and chains.

“…and that mural above was painted by the great Giosulla, after he met the Third Prophet. And here we are, the Hall of Bonding.”

Most people would just call it a cafeteria, Mirian thought. For all the deep secrets of the Order, in the end they were human. A dining hall by any other name felt the same, and though the conversation was quieter and more restrained, it still had the same atmosphere as any other hall she’d eaten in.

The fare was, unsurprisingly, vegetarian, and as usual with western Baracuel cooking, had a dire need for some more spices. It wasn’t terrible, though. The chefs clearly had some talent in sauteing the vegetables, and the bread wasn’t the best sourdough she’d ever had, but it was somewhere near the top.

Lancel, it turned out, was extremely talkative. He rambled on quite a bit about the petty goings on of the temple. “You’ve started communing with the celestial?” he asked.

Lecne had told her that was code for ‘know rune magic.’ The Luminate Order apparently didn’t even like to use language that was too similar to that used by arcane scholars. “I have,” Mirian admitted. And how exactly did the Order and the magi become such separate entities? Imagine what would have been achieved if they’d worked together.

“Amazing, isn’t it? Well, maybe not yet. It will probably take a few more months of communing with your soul before you manage anything. Most people achieve their first blessing within the second year.”

“Oh, does it take that long?” Mirian asked. Does it really? She knew she’d progressed fast in soul magic, but didn’t realize it had been that fast. Of course, none of the acolytes were likely to have a foundational understanding in arcane magic. The two forms weren’t fundamentally different, so her training at Torrviol had likely given her an edge.

“Usually. Some manage it faster. Some slower. The Gods bless us all differently, and their pattern is never clear. Which reminds me—”

Another acolyte had walked up to the table, though. “Carry Their memory, holy one. Bishop Lancel, I apologize if I’ve interrupted you—”

“Not at all!” He narrowed his eyes. “Starts with… hmm… no, don’t tell me. Hamel! It is Hamel, isn’t it?”

“Yes, holy one,” Hamel said. He had dark hair, and from his complexion and accent, probably was east Baracueli like Mirian. “If I may speak in private with you? It concerns a matter of temple finance.”

Bishop Lancel frowned. “‘The ledgers of the Order should be an open book.’ Second Prophet. There are things worth keeping secret, but the temple’s money is not one of them.”

“Very well,” said Hamel, glancing at Mirian a bit distrustfully. He lowered his voice then said, “My assigned duty this month was to transcribe a copy of the ledgers. I… before joining, I worked as an accountant for the Tailor’s Guild, so it is something I am quite familiar with. So you see, I am quite proficient at noticing suspicious entries.”

“Yes?” said Bishop Lancel, who was still smiling.

Strange. He surely understands what Hamel is implying, but isn’t bothered by it? Or is it just his demeanor?

“There are… a lot of suspicious entries. I made a copy of them.” He handed three sheets of paper to the bishop. Mirian couldn’t help but notice the total on the bottom of the front sheet was 351 doubloons.

“I’m sure someone made an honest mistake. You talked to Priest Treyul already?”

“I did, and he did not want to listen to what I had to say. Which is concerning. These do not seem like the kind of mistakes one could make on accident. Usually, when something like this happens, it’s because—”

“I’ll look into it,” Lancel said. “You have my word.”

Acolyte Hamel gave a small nod, then his shoulders visibly relaxed. “Thank you, holy one.”

“Only our duty,” the bishop replied. “Sorry to interrupt our conversation, Micael, but it was good meeting you.” Bishop Lancel stood, papers in hand. He paused midway through the aisle, then made for one of the doors. Then he paused and made for another one. Hamel left, glancing back at Mirian.

Mirian waited for them both to leave, then cleared their dishes and made for the exit herself. Part of her wasn’t surprised there was corruption in the Luminate Order. Another part of her was crushed. The faithful the Ominian calls to are supposed to be the best of us, she mourned.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Now that she’d found the main living quarters, it was easier to orient herself. She surreptitiously checked for both arcane glyphs and celestial runes. Her divination spell pointed her back towards the kitchen. Apparently, the ban on glyphs hadn’t extended to cooking. That made sense; ventilating the smoke from the candles and torches was annoying enough. Having to use a bunch of smoking fuel to cook for that many people would be a real pain. And yet, it’s a holy tenet of the Order. What lets them pick and choose what they follow?

It took her another fifteen minutes to find the holy vaults, mostly because she got turned around again and had to double back. New acolytes getting lost was, it seemed, a usual rite of passage.