Page 66 of A Kingdom of Lies
“No, Robin. Angels. One day, you will see.”
I nodded, hyper aware that I’d offended him. “And these angels, what did they say?”
“Well, they gave me purpose. Now, Altar is no different, Father of the fey and recognised deity of your people. But Duwar, that creature has no standing to be titled as a god.”
A shadow passed over the old man, hardening his features as though Duwar’s name had the power to turn him to stone with hate.
I should’ve left to search for Duncan already, but the truth the abbot was revealing kept me rooted to the spot. “I don’t understand how Duwar’s name has never been brought up before. How a…” I refrained from using the title god. Instead, I opted to use the same title the abbot had used. “How a creature has captured enough people’s belief to encourage an entire faith yet is not mentioned before… besides your angels that is. Even in Wychwood the Hunters and their actions have been a mystery, believed to be tied with fey-blood and the desire for power. How does that tie to Duwar?”
“Sadly, I don’t have the answers you seek. However, Duncan will. Have you asked my dear boy?”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t refer to Duncan as dear, and no. I witnessed what the Hunters do in the name of their… Duwar and it is frightening. But it is the Hand they talk about. I fear that’s who Duncan really worships.”
“There have been whispers of what the Hand desires for many moons. In recent years, those whispers have become more like muffled shouts. More and more of their kind sweep across the land in the name of this Hand, taking your kind for blood, knowing that the King’s seal of approval will stop anyone from interfering. Yet the question I keep asking myself, one that even Duncan has refused to answer, is why? What is it they believe will happen? There was an age of Gods, written about in testaments old. However, that time has long passed and for most is nothing but stories you tell at night to keep naughty children from misbehaving.”
“Why now?” I asked.
“That is correct,” he said, eyes widening in curiosity. “Why now indeed?”
My mind was whirling with questions. It was hard to know which one to pick out first. Perhaps my silence was the abbot’s signal that I was finished with our conversation, when in fact, I was never more ready to find out more.
“Before you go to look for Duncan, would you do an old man a favour and answer a question?” The abbot’s knees creaked, like worn floorboards in a forgotten home, as he stood, liver-spotted hands clasped before his belly as though they held it in from slipping free.
“It would be the least I can do for a man who has let two vagrants into his home without hesitation.”
He smiled briefly, wide eyes full of an emotion I could not quite name. “Are you a believer? In the Creator, in Altar, it does not matter to me which.”
I paused, feeling the faint tremble of the ground as the memory of Altar’s temple falling down around me filled my mind and left a bad taste in my mouth.
“Yes,” I answered, surprised at how easy it was. “At least I think so. I’ve learned a lot in a short period of time and witnessed even more. What I’ve seen makes it hard to turn my back on the potential of higher beings.”
“I am glad to hear it,” the abbot confirmed, head bowing. “There may come a time when everyone’s faith, no matter in whom it is held, will become necessary. I fear something brews, something terrible and close. Havingsomeoneto fight for is as important as knowing whom you fight beside.”
I found Duncan within a grand room in the heart of the church. Relief chilled the blush of warmth that my anxiety spread across my skin. He’d not left after all, which showed that he was not as stupid as I was beginning to believe.
The room was both elegant and rich, with colour, stone and decoration that the rest of the church lacked. It reminded me of Altar’s temple, instead crafted from wooden pews and marble columned pillars that stood guard down the sides of the room. Vines and greenery had not claimed this place of worship. Instead, stone walls were covered by draping banners, each depicting scenes of stories that I could not recall.
At the front of the room was an altar, covered in a cream sheet with the sign of the Creator sewn proudly across its hem. A chalice waited upon it, the remnants of red wine drying across its rim. White candles still burned across the altar, dripping wax. The small, amber flames danced in the breezeless room, shifting freely for an unseen audience.
The Creator’s symbol, a four-spoked wheel with the arrow pointing northwards, could be seen all around the room. Even the flooring, tiles of black and grey arranged into the shape of the sign, spread out beneath my feet.
A creeping of thick incense crawled into my nose and clung on with desperate claws. I could taste the spice in the clouds of smoke that melted from the hanging golden burners which moved from side to side, pushed by an unseen hand.
I entered the room on gentle feet, concerned I’d shatter the ambience of blissful silence that held the room.
Duncan didn’t show any sign that he sensed my presence, but there was no doubt he was aware. He stayed were he sat, in the middle of a pew facing the altar as though it entrapped his attention completely. Daylight streamed in from the large, stained-glass window that hung proudly at our backs, casting a glow of brilliance across everything. The colours seemed to sway across the floor, interrupted only by the winter clouds that drifted lazily before the sun. Imprinted on the glass was an image of a woman with white wings and billowing hair, clutching a hammer crafted from yellow glass that gave it the impression of being gold.
Were these the angels Nathanial spoke of? Did he drink too much of his blessed mind and lose himself to the ideals of this faith?
“Do you mind if I join you?” I asked, voice echoing against the rafters. Even the flames upon the many candles stilled, listening contentedly for Duncan’s answer.
Duncan still had not washed. Hair soaked with blood, and dark clothing coated in grime. If anyone else entered this room they would have seen him and thought that the dead had risen. Instead, it was only me and him, plus the promise of the Creator who felt as real as the ground I walked on after the abbot’s comments.
The Hunter didn’t take his eyes off the altar as he replied. “I suppose it would be rude to refuse.”
It was not exactly the yes or no I expected, but not pushing my luck, I moved down the middle aisle and stopped at the edge of the pew he sat upon.
“For a second there I’d convinced myself that you’d left me here,” I admitted, scooting down the pew until I was beside him. Duncan’s hand was splayed out upon the seat beside him, fingers claiming the space for his own. Before I took my seat, he removed his claim and put his hand upon his knees in offering. Without question, I sat beside him.
