Chapter Nineteen: Avarice (Part Two). 

The majesty of the monastery was not lost upon repeat viewing. It was truly dreadful, in the way the word means when said before something unknowably and impossibly grand, and yet placed as though utterly mundane.

There was something there beyond just the marble and iron. An energy, a tension. Something in the vibrations of the air. The taste left by a thunderstrike, and the feeling that a lover was soon to be an ex-. Twists in her belly like the kicking of an unborn babe, and the lightness of head brought about by a round of bottled mistakes.

There was something missing. An abyss at the foundations. The throne of this goden lay dusty and alone. The priests worshipped at the absence of the very being that had – just weeks earlier – confirmed her as the Black Champion.

It was he, Hevestiel - the lesser goden of iron - who had given her the words and, in those words, had told her future. "The night's dreams have started; the victor will be left empty-hearted. They hold their dreams to thee, and leave you in misery. Ashtik Sai-Weleg, Sparrow-knight or white-hair. Thy shall hold a name for each star you darken, when the Champion of Black is made the greatest archon."

She realised as she surmounted the great white staircase, that he had never said that she would win. "The victor will be left empty-hearted," she whispered. Her foe, whoever it was that sought an end to the world, would have to be empty-hearted to do as they were prophesied. Did that mean that Ash was destined to lose?

"Good morrow, young mae. Might you be here for the tour?" An overly jolly young lad asked. It broke her concentration, and the thoughts quickly fled from her mind.

"I- No," she simply answered, making no attempt to match his almost giddy demeanour. "I'm here to see my sister. She should be with the healer?"

"Ah, the young white-haired madame?"

"I'd guess," Ash grunted. She did not mean to be rude, but she had had more than her fill of speaking with strangers for one day.

"Well, if you'd follow me, my lady. I can give you the little tour while we walk!"

Ash offered him a mumble in passionless agreement but she did not wait for him to lead the way. She walked straight through the front door and held it open for just enough time that the young lad could hurry his way through.

"Well, this is the main entrance," he said as though it wasn't obvious. "Not an original piece of the temple. After the Champion war of the three-hundredth year of the twenty-fifth era, the front end of the temple was reduced to ruins by the Champion of Bronze... a now-defunct position, as I'm sure you know."

As reluctant as Ash was to speak to the young man, she was somewhat interested in what he had to say. Naturally, she hid her interest as to discourage any attempt at conversation, but she did consider everything he said.

She knew that some nations kept the Baliat calendar, but she wasn't sure how it worked, but that it tracked the world's path around the supposedly distant sun. Her own people had no need to keep time beyond a lifetime, so they would measure years by the winters of eldest memory.

Why one would need to measure to the three-hundredth year was beyond her. Nobody could remember that far back, and whatever could have occurred back then would have no more impact on her today than her meal choice, three thousand meals ago.

They carried on through the cold iron corridors into a grand chamber where a hundred priests stood with their heads bowed. They all wore beat iron crowns. The women wore crowns with spikes that pointed towards the heavens, while the men wore spikes that faced the ground beneath them. They all dressed in simple blue robes and not one made a sound.

At the centre of the hall, a smith worked away at her forge. She beat a new crown from molten iron while what must have been a new acolyte knelt before the anvil.

"This is the induction ceremony," the boy whispered. "Once the crown is forged, the acolyte must pick it up and quench it in the water. Only then shall they be inducted as a brother or sister."

"That's barbaric," Ash whispered back.

"It is their way. A show of will. Proof that pain shall not deter you from your devotion."

"What if they fail? What if they drop it?"

"Then they must pick it up."

"And if they can't? If the pain is too great?"

"Then a brother or sister will carry their burden. Another will quench the flame on their behalf."

"Will the acolyte be kicked out?" Ash asked.

"Never. They will carry on their lives knowing that their brothers or sisters carry a scar on their behalf. There is nobody more loyal and devout than an acolyte who failed to quench the flame. It is that acolyte who later carries the flame for he who fails next." The boy motioned out to the acolyte as they rose from their knee. It was only after he removed his hood that Ash realised it was a young man. Maybe a few years her senior with a thick and matted beard.

He walked in prayer over to the anvil, where the molten crown lay.

The crowd of priests chanted as he drew near, "Goden of iron, lord of the forge. Wield our hearts, steel our souls. Blood and iron, blood and iron. Creation and destruction. Ice and ash."

The man did not scream as his hands burst into flame. Instead, his prayers became song. Panicked and frenzied, but utterly focused.

"Blood and iron! Creation and destruction! Ice and ash!" He bellowed as he took his first step towards the ice bucket. "My soul for you. My life for my family. Blood and Iron!"

He plunged the crown to the bottom of the bucket but seemed to find no comfort in the quickly boiling water. A jet of vapour sprung out and caught his eyes. At last, he screamed in agony, but he did not move. He stood with his crown beneath the water until it finally stopped bubbling and boiling.

"Shall we move along?" The young man offered.

Ashtik was dumbfounded. The young man had to have blinded himself for life. Nobody moved to help him, nobody so much as tilted their heads up from their prayers. It was not a display she could stomach any longer.

"Please," she agreed.

The next hall was more like a school than a blood cult. Her guide excused himself as she entered before a round of children in fine silken clothes pranced through the corridor, playing at some war games. A tired-looking woman made after them, and begged for stillness.

A classroom full of teenagers, all around Evara's age, sat around and studied over some historical texts. Ash assumed that Ev hid amongst them, but the little white beacon was nowhere to be seen.

"Can I help you... Champion?" A somewhat familiar voice, with an completely unfamiliar accent, asked. Ash turned from the classroom window and saw, stood just before her, the bishop of steel; Satra, the woman who had first proclaimed her as a Champion.

"I, er, don't think you're supposed to call me that, Mother Satra," Ash tried to joke.

"True enough. I am supposed to claim that you are the Heretic of Black and have my men run you through. Would you not rather we be a touch naughty?"

"I wouldn't want to get you in trouble on my account," Ash bowed.

"We both know you are no heretic. A blasphemer, perhaps, but no heretic," Satra said. "But why would you come to this temple? Even if the Forgelands are neutral, this chapel is still technically part of the Conclave. If some of the more... zealous priests discover who you are, there may be trouble."

"My sister is with the healer. She is supposed to be learning magic," Ash explained. "I just thought I should check in on her."

"Oh, well worry not, Champion. The healer is far from a pious woman, she will be glad to meet you."

"You make it sound like being pious is a bad thing. Aren't you a bishop?"

"Piety in and of itself is no virtue, and a lack thereof is no flaw. Kana has spent her entire life in pursuit of the study of magic and healing. In that, she is a holier woman than most priests. The gods are not so small as to treat a life of service and virtue as lesser, simply because it was done for the adoration of man and not the veneration of the gods."

Satra motioned for Ash to follow her. They carried along the sterile white corridors until they came upon a winding spiral staircase. The higher along they went, the less clean and unnatural things became. The painted panels ceased as they came to the topmost steps and instead, exposed stone bricks that seemed as old as time lay. Every angle and corner had been smoothed and rounded by countless millennia of use. Once the metal staircase had ended, and the old stones became the only path, the ground seemed so smoothed and worn that Ash could almost see her reflection beneath the grey of the blocks.

A granite door, as old and worn as everything else here, lay at the end of the corridor. A dozen yellow glowing runes lay on its surface and Satra ran a delicate hand over them. Her hand acted as a paintbrush as a trail of emerald shimmers streaked close behind. It marked some new rune, which seemed to act as a password. Once complete, the shape forced the massive stone door open.

"Shut that bloody door! Cold as the hells in here and you wanna be letting in the breeze?" A cranky old voice called out over the sound of the opening granite block.

"Oh," the woman grunted. "Satra. What can I do you for?"

Satra bowed before the healer and humbly said, "Hello, Kana. This is the Sparrow-Knight I bel-"

"Ash!" Evara joyfully called out from some obscure nook. Ash and Satra had to draw much further into the room before they saw her. Amongst a score of dusty old desks, she sat alone. The dreary, lightless room around her seemed to dull her ever-vibrant little face and mute the tones of her beautiful little dress.

"So, this is... the Black Heretic?" The grand healer slowly realised.

"Come now, Kana. You are not so foolish as to believe that," Satra sighed.

"Never assume me to be anything but a fool! You will be astonished at how often I will let you down. You, Heretic, come here," the old woman ordered.

Ash slowly crossed the room, her eyes clinging to her thoroughly bored little sister. This Kana made no attempt to be civilised. She stunk of something like mushrooms and looked as though she hadn't bathed within Ash's lifetime.

The old woman yanked Ash's gauntleted hand out and got to her inspection.

"It certainly is infused steel. Pure, utterly pure. I see the power reservoir, limited for now, will likely grow larger over time. Tell me, child: what type of magic does it channel?" Kana robotically asked.

"I... am not sure," Ash admitted.

"Well," the old woman frustratedly sighed, "Does it ever glow... or explode... or do anything remotely magical?"

"Oh, yeah. It shoots lighting."

"That would be magical then, yes," Kana said with a force of effort not to shout in blatant frustration. "But what colour? Red? Gold?"

"Black... sometimes purple. Well, mostly a mix... half and half, I guess," Ash recalled.

"Oh..." The old woman choked.

"Is that bad?"

"Purple energy is that of power. It is by far the rarest and most potent source, but wouldn't be too shocking for a Champion of the Black Goden. It is the only directly destructive magical fount. Black energy, however... Now that is concerning."

"Surely the Black Goden using black energy is expected?" Ash awkwardly asked.

"It's not a brand, you fool. The black fount is the corruption that is inherent to all magic. It is what destroys the minds of mages, and pulls demons into our world. When any magical energy is drawn, black energy is created in reaction. It is the cancer of all magicians."

"So I shouldn't use it?"

"You shouldn't be able to, not without summoning an army of demon spawn. This will require much study," Kana said, mostly to herself, as she paced along the room.

A few minutes passed in silence. At some point during the discussion, Satra had managed to sneak away, though she hadn't closed the door behind herself.

"Excuse me, Madame Kana," Evara meekly called from the back of the clearly unused classroom.

"Yes, yes, what is it?" Kana impatiently replied, wavering for a moment in her stationary marching.

"It's just that, I've finished my test," Ev replied with an uncharacteristic timidity.

"Nonsense," Kana dismissed, "You have another hour yet."

"Yes, but... I don't need it," she said unsurely. Kana sighed as she made her way over to Ev's desk, but her doubt quickly gave way to awe as she read over the paper.

"I thought you said you were an utter novice? That you have faced no sort of tutelage in your life?" Kana accused.

"I- I am!" Ev insisted. "I haven't been schooled, but for lessons in literacy by my village elder. I swear it."

"Then how by the gods can you have possibly answered these questions? I have second-year pupils who cannot make so much as a guess at some of this."

"My- My sister got me this," Ev stuttered as she produced her novice guide from her carry pack.

"A novice guide? Outdated, but I suppose it has done its job. You have retained much, I am impressed. It seems you come from an extraordinary family. Tell me, do you have magical blood?"

Evara looked to Ash as though she had some answer beyond what Evara knew. "No," Ash answered. "Nobody in our family has any magical talent, beyond Ev, obviously."

"Fascinating," Kana whispered.

"D- Does this mean you'll teach me some spells?" Ev begged with a poorly masked giddiness.

"Spells? Spells!?" Kana erupted. "Child, we are not witches in the woods casting warts upon foul-smelling men. Did you not hear me talking about corruption? Every 'spell' has a cost, and is not to be risked by a complete novice. It matters not how naturally adept you may be."

"But what about the forest?" Ash interrupted. "She cast a spell then."

"The forest?" Kana repeated.

"You didn't tell her?" Ash shrieked. Ev shrunk away beneath her books and did all she could to avoid her sister's furious glare.

"Tell me what?"

"While we travelled here, my sister tried to enchant a rock. Something went wrong, and she erupted into a big... green... whirlwind of fire," Ash recounted.

"That's impossible..." Kana said, but self-doubt ended the protest before it could part her lips. After what looked to be some deeply complex thought, she finally slipped a breathy, "unless..."

She looked to Ash's gauntlet, and then to the young Evara - who yet hid beneath her books in hopes that she would be forgotten.

"Both of you, follow," Kana ordered.