Cobblestones split like old parchment and feathered away into nothingness. The countryside bucked and gave. Upon the horizon mountains receded into the sky while the stars winked out behind them and by the time she had raised her head the whole world was gone. Tugging her mace free of the priest's ruined skull Morne kneed his body over the edge and watched him tumble, shrinking with distance. She wondered if he'd fall for ever.
A voice murmured beside her: "Was it worth it?"
It held the resonant tone of an orator, but here it sounded thin, stretched out. She glanced at him. The robes of his old faith hung too-loose on his shoulders. Its crest matched the one that even now trailed breathlessly down into the emptiness beneath them. She turned away without answering. The cathedral's withered ruin towered over her, an island in the void.
Monolithic doors creaked ajar. A wide-jawed man, salt-and-pepper beard hastily trimmed, snapped his gaze about. Seeing her Shem straightened out of a crouch. "Morne," he said.
She looked at the body sprawled at his feet. "How is she?"
Concern knitted his brow. He shook his head. The priest rushed past her and knelt over the girl; he felt her wrist, then her neck. His hands worked wild motions that blurred the air and made Morne's eyes water.
She turned her attention back to the bearded man. "Where's Hendel?"
"I warned you about her," Shem said. "Hendel is fled. Into the cathedral."
"This woman is dead," said the priest. He bent his gaze up at the others, his eyes flicking between them until they settled upon Morne. "Bringing us here killed her."
But Morne waved this away with a flick of her wrist. At Shem: "You let her go?"
"Was I to stop her?" He patted his clothes and gestured his hands wide, as if to say: with what?
Hands grabbed Morne's coat. The priest pulled her around to face him. "Your sister is dead," he hissed.
"I heard you the first time."
"I'm not sure that you did!"
"Let go of me, priest." This last word she spat like a curse.
"No!" he said, but saying it he seemed to come back to himself and released her after all. He jabbed a finger at the body curled up on the floor. "You asked this of her," he continued, his voice now almost pleading. It murmured echoes about the antechamber. "I want you to understand."
"She said she could handle it."
His eyes searched hers. Unseen by them both Shem shut his eyes and turned away, one hand on his hip and the other kneading the bridge of his nose.
These next words seethed out from between the priest's lips as though to speak them too fast would burn him: "You knew this would happen."
Morne didn't blink. "It was her choice," she said.
"You could have asked her anything! She would have done it; she did! I've heard her speak of you. To her you're—you were—like a . . ." But he couldn't say it. His tongue rebelled against the word. The woman he saw before him, so careless of her own sister's death, eyes so full of disdain for him: she seemed suddenly a stranger. Had she hidden herself from him so well? But if that were so, here at the climax of her mad odyssey seemed the worst time to let the mask slip. She still needed his trust . . . didn't she?
Have you lied to us all, Morne? he thought. Were your intentions less than pure when you stole the name of a god? The words strained on the edge of his tongue, but he couldn't meet her gaze and his mouth refused to open.
Morne left him stewing. Shem looked up when he heard the clip of her boots. He flicked his eyes at the priest and raised an eyebrow.
"He'll come around," she said. "You saw where she went?"
"Hendel?" Seeing acknowledgement on her face, he nodded at the door to the nave. She set her jaw and moved. As she passed by he caught a hint of the smell of her sweat, and watching her go a distant sadness creased his brow and dulled his eyes and in his mind old memories winked and flared like dying stars.
At first Morne couldn't hear Shem following. Though her stride never faltered, a tenseness began to settle in her skin and for a moment the lines under her eyes seemed to deepen. Then a second pair of footfalls joined hers. They echoed together in the antechamber. She blinked once, twice. Her eyes were dry.
"Best we make this quick," she said, voice steady as ever. Adjusting her gloves, she put one hand on the nave door and shoved. "I have a god to kill."
