The Record of the Saints Caliber (85 page)

“That was quite the show, Saint Nuriel.” said the Oracle as his group approached. Like other Oracles, it wore the same type of silver mirror mask and was followed by a group of Sin Eaters in black, beaked masks with round, green-lensed goggles. But unlike other Oracles and Sin Eaters, the Holy Few all wore crimson gowns.

Nuriel bowed slightly and from the corner of her eye she caught Karinael bowing rather more deeply. She could see the look of concern on Karinael’s face, and could even feel Karinael’s anxiety in her Caliber. The Holy Fews’ presence out in the streets was not common here in Sanctuary. The group rarely left the Holy Palace and almost never spoke to any but Holy Father and the Bishops. When they did, it was only for something incredibly important or incredibly dire. Nuriel couldn’t help but think both situations might fit with her and she wondered which had brought them all the way from the Holy Palace.

“Good afternoon, Sister Karinael.” said the Oracle, giving a slight bow of his head. Behind him, the flock of Sin Eaters crouched and bobbed, their beaked faces casting unnerving glances upon Karinael and Nuriel, but mostly Nuriel.

“Good afternoon,” said Karinael, meekly.

“I trust your training with the Templars is going well?” asked the Oracle.

“Yes, very well.” said Karinael.

At her words the Sin Eaters seemed to become agitated and more animated, bobbing up and down and even slinking past the Oracle slightly.

“W-Well… er… it… it could be going better, I suppose.” corrected Karinael.

“I understand.” said the Oracle. “I am certain you will make a fine Templar. Would you agree, Saint Nuriel?”

Nuriel’s eyes flicked to Karinael and then back to the Oracle. She tucked her golden hair behind her ear and looked down, nodding her head. “Yes.”

All the Sin Eaters turned and focused their round, emerald lenses on Nuriel.

“Sister Karinael, if you would forgive our intrusion, we would like to speak with Nuriel regarding a private matter.”

“Yes, certainly,” said Karinael, bowing. She looked over at Nuriel and took her hand. “Come see me when you’re done, ok?”

Nuriel nodded her head. She felt Karinael’s grip slip from hers and watched as Karinael hopped up the steps to the castle-like dormitory. She opened the giant, wooden doors and disappeared beyond them.

“Saint Nuriel, it is good to have you back.” said the Oracle, its mirror mask focused directly on her. She could see herself reflecting back in it. “If you would please come with us?”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Very few Brothers and Sisters ever saw the interior of the Holy Palace. It sat at the far edge of Sanctuary, against the very peak of the mountain. It was a sprawling, beautiful, but looming presence amongst the clouds. Its highest towers were even lost beyond them. The only time Nuriel had ever been within its confines was during the Call to Guard Ceremony when she was accepted into the Order of the Saints Caliber. That day had not even been a year ago, but it felt so distant, as if it had been in a different life. Even still, Nuriel could remember it well. It had just rained and the Saints Garden smelled so pleasantly of wet soil and the perfume of its many flowers. The silver bark of the Stellabratus trees—trees that grew no other place in the world—sparkled like polished steel as the sun emerged from the passing storm clouds, revealing the azure skies above. Their shiny white leaves twinkled as the wind swept through their branches. The Holy Fountain flowed with rushing water and the Bishops and the Holy Few were lined up down the Grand Walk that led from the garden to the Holy Atrium outside the palace walls. It was all such a beautiful sight—breathtaking, really—and Nuriel hadn’t felt so happy and proud in as long as she could remember.

And then she had seen Holy Father Admael walking down the path toward her, and her heart fluttered and her knees almost gave out.

Before that day, Nuriel had never laid eyes upon him. Like most at Sanctuary, she had only seen the oil paintings of him upon the walls and seen the statues and busts of him. Yet, despite that, there was something so familiar and dear about him. There was something Nuriel couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was like she knew him and he knew her, and Nuriel had longed to meet him her whole life.

Nuriel could still remember how he had come down the Grand Walk wearing the familiar white and gold gown he was so often depicted in. Upon his head was the tall mitre crown of white gold that symbolized the throne of Sanctuary. The crown had four sharp spires, one for each point of Aeoria’s star, and they stood tall and straight and sparkled like icicles in the sun. Emblazoned upon the front was Aeoria’s star inset with sparkling rubies. Nuriel could remember how slowly he walked, using his golden staff to help support him. Nuriel remembered the kindly smile that stretched the wrinkles of his face and even made those tender, silver eyes of his smile. But most of all, Nuriel remembered his hand. It was old and frail, spotted and boney, but when he placed it on her shoulder she had felt a warmth and love she had never known before. It was something tangible that coursed through her, and it was more pleasing and comforting than even a hug from Karinael.

It had taken Nuriel many days to sort out what she had felt from him, and she never really understood it until she had gone to Jerusa with Isley. There, in the cities and caers, she had seen parents with their children for the first time. And then she knew what it was she had felt from Holy Father. What she had felt from him was
real
love. She had felt the love of a parent. She had felt love that was unconditional and unwavering. She felt love like she had seen when a father held his daughter close, or like a mother protecting her baby.
That
was what Holy Father Admael was. Nuriel knew it. He was her father, and he loved her despite anything and everything. It was the one constant she could hold on to; the one constant she
had
held on to.
Holy Father was love.
And even now, despite everything she had gone through, everything she had seen, Nuriel knew that tomorrow, when she talked to Holy Father, all would be forgiven.

Nuriel exhaled deeply, shaking herself from those pleasant memories. That day, nearly a year ago, she had been excited and scared in the most wonderful of ways. Today, however, she was also scared, but it was not in a wonderful way. She was not outside in the garden where the pleasing scent of rain and flowers filled the air. She was in a dimly lit hall of the palace, being led down narrow corridors of pale, arched stone. At the end was a door that seemed all the more imposing for its plain simplicity.

The Oracle opened the door. There was a windowless, circular chamber beyond, occupied by an ornate, round table with decorative high-backed chairs. Seated around the table like motionless statues were the six Bishops. They sat still and rigid, their slender, robed forms spooky in how tall they were, and made taller still by the mitre hats upon their heads. They looked upon her with those black, featureless masks. Nuriel could feel her stomach flutter and her heart quicken.

“Please, come in,” said the Oracle, extending an arm into the room.

Despite the masks and their stillness, the Bishops cast a palpable gaze upon Nuriel that made her feel uneasy; terrified even. Behind her, Nuriel could hear the raspy breaths of the Sin Eaters. She breathed deep and steeled herself. Then she entered into the chamber, lit only by a few low-burning gaslamps upon the wall.

“Please, take a seat, Saint Nuriel.” said the Oracle.

There was but one chair open, and it was directly opposite the six seated Bishops. Their heads all nodded ever so subtly. Nuriel bit her lip and looked at the chair. She went over to it and sat down. From across the table she could smell a strange incense that seemed to perfume the Bishops. She could feel the flock of Sin Eaters gathering behind her. The Oracle stood to her left. Nuriel felt a shiver run down her spine.

“Thank you for joining us, Nuriel.” said the Oracle as the Bishops sat silent and motionless, their masks all looking blankly out into nothingness. Somehow, Nuriel knew eyes were upon her. She heard the door shut behind her and it had a terrible finality about it, like when the door to the Chamber of the Unwitnessed had closed on her.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” said the Oracle.

Nuriel wasn’t sure how that would be possible. She cleared her throat and asked, “W-Why am I here?” And she really had no idea. The Oracles back in Gatimaria had promised her an audience with Holy Father, but that wasn’t until tomorrow. She even had the document guaranteeing her the audience in her hip-sack.

“Upon arriving in Gatopolis you mentioned to the Oracle there that you had encountered a strange Saint named Celacia.” said the Oracle. “Tell us more.”

Nuriel looked up at the six tall Bishops seated before her. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought they were nothing but statues. She licked her lips. She felt her stomach burn with anxiety. “I…I have an audience with Holy Father to discuss that tomorrow.” said Nuriel. She fumbled in the leather purse at her waist and pulled out a rolled parchment. She unfurled it and handed it to the Oracle. There was writing scrawled upon it, but Nuriel couldn’t read any of it. It bore the signature of the Oracle in Gatimaria, and Nuriel had signed it with her own stellaglyph.

“I see,” said the Oracle, taking the paper from her. He rolled it up and slipped it into his robes. “Now please, continue with your encounter of Celacia.”

Nuriel’s eyes glanced over the seated Bishops and then back up at the Oracle at her side. “But…I… I thought I was to speak with Holy Father directly about this?”

“I know,” said the Oracle. “But you must understand, Nuriel, that Holy Father is very busy. As you know, we must all sometimes put aside our wants and needs for the greater good. The information you have cannot wait.” The Oracle placed a red, gloved hand on Nuriel’s shoulder and she felt herself shudder. His touch held no warmth, no comfort. “Lives depend on what you know, Nuriel. Perhaps even the lives of those you hold dear.”

Nuriel felt a crushing despair beginning to consume her. They weren’t going to let her speak with Holy Father. The chance to see him again was the one thing that had kept her going; the one thing that had made all the troubles and turmoils she had endured in Jerusa and Duroton bearable. She needed to see him again. She
had
to see him again. She had to know if his love was real, or if it had been a figment born of the excitement of that day, nearly a year ago. If his love was real, then everything she had endured was worthwhile; everything more she
would
endure would be worthwhile. But if his love was not, she didn’t know what that meant, but she knew it meant she couldn’t be a part of Sanctuary any longer.

“But…I was promised an audience with Holy Father,” said Nuriel.

“I am sorry, Nuriel.” said the Oracle. “But I do not think you understand the gravity of the situation you have become involved in. The Oracles in Gatimaria expressed to us some doubts about your story. With such impurities lingering upon you, we cannot grant you an audience with Holy Father.”

Nuriel shook her head. “No…you don’t understand. I
need
to speak with him…I
have
to speak with him.
Please.
If I could just see him for a moment…”

“I am sorry, Nuriel.” said the Oracle. “Now, let us go back to the day in question. Tell us how you came to meet this Saint you called Celacia.”

Nuriel held her head in her hands. She felt a tear run down her cheek. Her thoughts felt cloudy and muddled by the despair building within her. She felt cheated. She had been promised an audience with Admael, and now that was being taken away from her. She felt crushed, confused.

“Confess your sins, Nuriel.” said the Oracle. “Recount your story and your actions completely, and all will be forgiven and you shall be allowed your audience with Holy Father.”

Nuriel sat there for a moment, her head in her hands. She could feel the probing eyes of the Bishops. She could feel the cold, calculating presence of the Oracle at her side. Behind her the Sin Eaters rasped and whispered amongst themselves. This room and its inhabitants were cold. There was no love here, and despite the Oracle’s promise, there was no forgiveness. She knew that, and she could accept that. But if they would not keep their word and grant her that audience, then they’d get
nothing
from her.

Nuriel wiped a tear from her eye and looked up, staring as blankly into the room as the Bishops. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Sinner! Sinner!”
she could hear the Sin Eaters hissing behind her.

“Please, Nuriel,” said the Oracle. “It is imperative that you tell us everything you know. Lives are at stake.”

Nuriel just stared down at the table. “I…I already told the Oracles in Gatimaria everything I know.”

“Yes, we are aware of that.” said the Oracle. “But the Bishops would like to hear it directly from you.”

Nuriel wiped her hands down her face. They were never going to let any of this go. She felt trapped, angry.

“The life of a Saint out in the field can be very tough.” said the Oracle. “Your friend Karinael is now part of the Order of the Saints Templar. What if she were to become one of the Saints Caliber and be assigned to Jerusa like you? You know the dangers out there, Nuriel. You know the things that can shake a Saint’s resolve. What you know is very important to us. What you tell us could help save the life of a Saint like Karinael one day.”