Three Empires: Godless

Nina was tired. She’d been tired when she left her farmstead six months and five hundred leagues ago. She’d been tired when she buried her son beneath the old Oak tree where her parents lay. She’d been tired ever since plague ravaged Tandyhill and threatened everything she loved. Truth be told, she’d been tired for most of her fifty years.

She turned the corner and faced yet another dead end, shuttered windows and yellowed walls staring blankly at her. She sighed and shuffled back in the direction she came.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of pilgrims must travel to Telassa each year, she mused. The resting place of Eduardo the Just, Eduardo’s Chapel was one of the cornerstones of the Maker’s faith. Yet how any of those travellers actually found their way to the Great Square was a mystery. Telassa was a rabbit warren of winding streets, blind alleyways, cold canals and narrow horizons. It was said to be a place of great beauty, but the leaden skies did little to endear the place to Nina’s eyes.

Her foot slipped on the slick cobblestones. Light rain filled the air like a fog, droplets falling as much as rising. She managed to keep her footing - thank the Maker, if she fell she doubted she’d ever get up again - and continued down the narrow street.

If she had a little more money, she might have hired a fandera to carry her on the canal straight to the Chapel. But she’d spent her last coppers this morning, paying her way across the choppy lagoon to the City’s northern shore. Four hours later she was still wandering round in circles, trying to move south and being cut off at every turn. She’s seen no end of hawkers, peddlars, whores and orphans - but not one soul had been able to guide her to the Chapel without a little something to sweeten the deal.

Nina had travelled a long way to find Eduardo and pray for her son’s soul; pray for an end to the sickness that was ruining Tandyhill. She had finally found Telassa, but now feared that her old legs would give out on her - so near and yet so far from her destination.

Her path soon led her to the side of a canal. Drawing her shawl around her, Nina followed the course of the still waters. She came across a small square with a well, made The Sign over the image of Eduardo which watched over it, and gratefully drank deeply.

She carried onward, determined despite the creaking of her bones. She crossed an iagra, its wooden stalls empty in the oppressive weather; its mosiaced floor invisible to her tired eyes. She exited by the widest alleyway she could see, the narrow passage at least affording a little relief from the thick air.

Then the horizon fell away around her, and Nina found herself before a great open square. Colonnades flanked the broad paving stones on either side, framing the laced archways which fronted the buildings behind. In between, people and gulls alike flocked across the open space, oblivious to the rain. Some hundred yards before her stood Eduardo’s Chapel.

Nina knew of the stories, she knew of the false humility which the Chapel bore. She had dreamed of this moment throughout her life; alternately yearned and dreaded the sight this last half-year. But she wasn’t prepared for the beauty of the great building, its three domes rising like mushroom caps; the tall spire reaching high into the sky, linking the heavens to the Three Empires. A huge stained-glass window fronted the largest dome, surrounded with intricate carvings of beasts great and small, men small and great. Even against the grey washout of the rain, Eduardo’s chapel was as majestic as it was beautiful.

Just the sight of it filled Nina’s heart with joy. Overwhelmed with joy and relief, she choked back tears, emotion welling deep inside her. It was as if Eduardo himself was speaking to her.

It’s alright, brave Nina, the saint whispered in her heart. You are here, now, you are home. Come to me and relieve yourself of your burdens, for I can see that your heart is heavy.

“Yes,” she muttered to herself, wiping her eyes. “Yes, Eduardo, I shall come to you.”

Nina crossed the square rapt in awe; her old eyes picking out every single detail of the Chapel, etching it into her memory forever. She ignored the bustling crowds, the cries of the merchants, the giggles of women, and headed straight for the golden doors at the Church’s front.

It was only when she arrived and stepped under the arch that she noticed the line of people standing to one side. She stared dumbly at all the faces standing there - some lost, some elated like hers; but most tired. They shuffled along sombrely, like a line of slaves, creeping through the great doorway.

“To the back,” a gruff voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked to the front of the line, where a pot-bellied guard stood pointing. “H’oi, you deaf? Get to the back – I’ll ‘ave no pushing.”

Nina was dumbstruck. She muttered an awkward apology, bowed her head, and walked back along the line. The queue wound itself right around the square. Nina stared into hundreds of faces, people from all over the Empires, she assumed, as her aching legs carried her right back where she had come. With each step she took away from the chapel, her heart sank a little further.

The rain squalled, thickening and lightening and then thickening again. Foreign tongues wagged all around her. Whores and hawkers walked the queue, trying to drum up some trade. Nina stared at the floor, held her shawl tightly around her, and retreated deep inside herself. She must have queued for an hour - and no matter how hard she searched, she could no longer feel the presence of Eduardo. She tried to console herself with memories of her son and husband, of happier times before war and plague. But all she saw in her heart was the sight of her son walking away from her for the last time; anger burning in his chest, eyes staring hard into the uncertain future.

At long last, Nina found herself at the head of the queue. She tried to peer through the doorway to the chapel inside. She could see little in the darkness, but heard a comforting thrum of voices. She longed for prayer and contemplation, a break from the cold and the rain.

A halberd was lowered in her path, a rough, unshaven guard staring her down. Nina couldn’t tell if it was the same who had spoken to her earlier. “Dunation?” he grumbled in a bored monotone.

“Pardon, s-senior?” Nina stammered.

“Donation. Fer upkeep,” he replied, nodding towards the spire which loomed high above them.

“Upkeep? P-pardon, senior, but I came here to give worship…”

“Pay up an’ you can worship all you like,” The guard spat thickly on the floor, his eyes never leaving Nina.

“Forgive me, but I do not understand. I only wish to pray-”

“Look, pay yer money, like everyone else, or fuck off – either way, I gotta move the line.”

Nina looked over her shoulder, at the line of dirty faces behind her, and the rain sweeping over the square. She could not turn back now, she dare not.

“I have paid my dues in sweat and grief,” she said, looking up into the guard’s eyes. “You would have me pay in gold, also?”

“Your God does not care for your sweat, Gramma. He sold his soul for gold years ago. In this city any road.”

“He is your God, too, senior,” Nina replied, shocked to hear such blasphemy. “And he has no soul; for he is soul.”

“Whatever – the line ain’t movin, and that tower ain’t pain fer itself.”

Nina sighed heavily.

“I... I have nothing of value, senior...”

“Then I can’t let you in,” he looked over Nina’s head and shouted “Next!”

Nina’s stomach tightened.

“All I have is this,” she said glumly, loosening her cowl and reaching under her shawl. She was loathe to pay such a high price, but saw no other choice. She pulled her Image from its chain around her neck. It was her mother’s; a small golden statue of Eduardo and all that Nina had to pray by. “It... it is all I have in the world...”

“Let’s see,” the guard said, seizing the figure roughly from Nina’s grasp. He peered at it intently. “It’ll do,” he shrugged, raising the halberd. “Move along now, yer holding up the line.”

Nina watched as the guard shoved the Image inside his jerkin. She felt a push at her back and stepped forward, then moved automatically towards the great golden doorway. As she got closer, she noticed the carvings etched into its surface – and, amazingly, recognised them. There were the images of the Creation, The Sacrifice, and The Bleeding. There, at the top, were the signs of Joseph and Josha-

“’scuse, ‘scuse!” said a voice behind her. Nina was brushed to one side: a family of Cornarians swept past and into the Chapel. Nina shook her head, unable to understand the rush, the desire to race into an experience that would last a lifetime.

She stepped through the doorway into air that was close and stifling, thick with the sounds of people. A line of visitors wove through the huge space like cattle, drowning out the sacred silence with chattering, shuffling and laughter. The ceiling reached high overhead – higher than any Nina had seen – ending in a great dome covered in gold. Painted in the centre was Eduardo, arms outstretched, protecting the fallen form of the Maker; his bones against the mob’s stones.

The crowd pushed and jostled her along before she could look deeper. Nina peered round, trying to breathe in the great beauty of the building around her. But she felt a great weight in her heart: for so many people drifted past the paintings, statues, archways and carvings without so much as a second glance. Eyes lingered on the surface, but no-one seemed to look below.

She grew tired again – worn from the suffocating press of bodies, heavy with the weight of her wet robes, aching feet complaining about being forced to stand for so long. A numbness passed over her, her curiosity at her surroundings diminished. As she passed around the altar, she saw a small area roped off from the river of people. A row of pews stood before a small statue atop a black marble plinth. People sat and prayed. A man appeared from behind a curtain, strode up to the statue, and lit a candle. He stood for a moment in prayer, bowed his head, then retreated to where he came from.

This was what she had come here for: prayer. Nina slipped away from the throng, ducked under the rope, and sat at the end of one of the pews. She tried to shut out the hushed chatter which bubbled behind her, folded her hands together, and closed her eyes. She reached out with her heart, trying to find some sign of Eduardo.

“No hedge-worship,” said a deep voice behind her. Nina opened her eyes and turned to see a priest behind her, wearing fine satin robes and a rich velvet cloak.

“Are you deaf, woman? I said - worship your false Gods elsewhere.”

Nina fumbled around her neck to find her Image – but it was gone, sold to get inside.

“I.. I pray to Edua-“

“You presume to pray before the Maker’s Prophet?” the priest asked, eying Nina up and down. His hands were crossed solemnly in front of him, adorned in jewels and gold.  “You are filthy. Your presence here is an insult to Eduardo-“

“Please! I-“

“Silence! Do not interrupt a servant of the faith! Remove yourself at once, or I will have the guards drag your worthless carcass out of here.”

“I... my appearance does not matter to Eduardo-”

“It matters to those who serve in his name. You untidy the place – look at the mess you make.”

Nina followed his pointed finger. Water was seeping out of her soaked linens, pooling around the base of the pew and staining the polished floor.

“Very well,” sighed Nina, fatigue and despondency getting the better of her. “I can see that Eduardo’s presence has long since left this place.”

“If you cannot feel His presence, then perhaps it is you who is at fault. Not his most holy of chapels.”

“Tell me, wise father,” Nina said, drawing herself to her feet. “When did the works of man become more worthy than the worship of God?”

“When man claimed dominion over the world. Go back to your pigs, perhaps you will find the Maker’s touch once more amidst the mud and the shit.”

The priest departed, his fine robes billowing out about him. He ducked under the rope and pushed angrily through the crowd. Nina turned to Eduardo’s statue, made the sign over her heart, and drew her cowl over her heard.

She pushed her way through the press of bodies straight towards the exit, out into the fresh, damp air of Eduardo’s Square. She ran as fast as her old legs could carry her before collapsing at the foot of an archway. She sat there for some time, weeping not just for the death of her son, but also for the passing of her God.