“Excellent.” Gabe drained the last of his lackluster beer. “Sun’s going down. We should head that way.”
They paid their tab and started across Farramark, toward the Rotunda. The golden dome glittered between the plain stone and wood buildings of the rest of the city, calling them on like a beacon.
“If there’s any sort of bloodletting, I’m leaving,” Malcolm said, looking squeamish. “Everyone cutting their hands, or something. Do you know how many diseases you can get from that?”
“I’d say we’re locked in, no matter what happens,” Gabe said grimly. “If we want the Fount piece and safety for Lore and Alie.”
Malcolm sighed.
Thinking of cutting hands brought Bastian’s Consecration to mind, when Anton carved half of a bloody eclipse into his palm. Gabe had been shocked then, though sure that whatever Anton was doing had some greater purpose, meant for good. How naive he’d been.
But, gods, Bastian had looked beautiful that day. Between him and Lore at his side, Gabe’s head had been spinning like bubbles in a glass of champagne.
The Rotunda was dark, the countless windows ringing the building shuttered. A lone man stood to the side of the grand staircase, a dark hood pulled up over his face. When he saw Gabe and Malcolm, he bowed slightly, gestured for them to follow.
“Oh, look,” Malcolm muttered. “Cloaks.”
“Point for you,” Gabe replied.
The cloaked man led them to a side entrance, opened the door.Beyond, darkness, cut through with the smoky light of sconces. A tiny landing before a steep staircase.
As they passed through the door, the man bowed again. “Honored ones.” He came in behind them, giving them space.
Malcolm shifted uncomfortably.
The staircase ended in a round room. Gabe had heard of this—the bottom level of the Rotunda was a shelter for Farramark citizens when the weather turned particularly nasty. Usually, when the skies were what passed for pleasant in Caldien, the area was used for storage. Whatever had been stored here had now been moved out to make space for a gathering of nearly fifty people, all wearing black robes with the hoods pulled up, hiding their faces.
To make room for the Brotherhood, but also for the wide stone fountain in the center of the floor.
The sides of the fountain were smooth, rising to about knee height, made of stones stacked and mortared together. The mortar had been gilded, and thin lines of gold paint ran over the stones, making it shimmer in the low light. Water burbled in the fountain, a clever mechanism making a spout rise in the middle though the rest of it remained placid. It must be fed by some underground spring.
Clearly, this was meant to be a replication of the Fount.
“This seems like slight blasphemy,” Malcolm murmured, his voice hidden in the susurrus of other Brotherhood members visiting with one another.
“More than slight,” Gabe replied. “I’d say this is far more accurate blasphemy than we’re used to.”
One figure broke from the crowd and stepped up to the fountain, throwing back his hood. Eoin, grinning wide. “Welcome, Brothers,” he intoned, his arms spread benevolently. “If you are here, you are a seeker of truth, a mind uncontained by tradition. You do not follow scriptures; you follow power.”
“We follow power and see where it leads,” the rest of the group replied.
“And now for the chanting,” Malcolm whispered.
Gabe barely kept his face stoic beneath his own hood.
One of the Brothers stepped up to Eoin, handing him a silver goblet. Eoin took it and dipped it into the false Fount, holding it up in the dim light as water streamed down his arm and wet his cloak. “To knowledge, and the making of a better world.”
The rest of the Brotherhood repeated the sentiment. Gabe stayed quiet.
Eyes alight with holy fervor, Eoin brought the goblet to his mouth and drank.
The Brotherhood member took it back and did the same, pulling down his hood to reveal his face as he did. Gabe didn’t know his name, but he recognized him from the Rotunda, one of the elected representatives. The man passed the goblet, and the next Brother took his own sip.
“Are we doing that?” Malcolm asked as they watched the water make its way around the room. “I feel like we shouldn’t do that.”
“We have to.” The goblet was close now. Five more Brothers and it’d be their turn. “I don’t see a refusal going over well.”
The Brother closest to them drank. He passed the goblet to Malcolm.
