Chapter 56: Tearing Through Heaven

Leofric waited with a smile on his face.

“Drink,” he repeated after a while.

Clara didn’t.

Eventually, he raised his free hand and grabbed the side of her face. “Little Clara. You may not remember this, but back at Saintess Brigid’s, when the matron wasn’t looking, I was quite a strict disciplinarian. I do not enjoy such things, but I am not above them.”

Her throat went dry.

His touch raised a primal dread inside her, something deeply disturbing she hadn’t even known was there, and it shocked her into paralysis. His thumb pushed her jaw down, and she didn’t—couldn’t—resist.

The drink went down, and the warmth in her chest bloomed into a golden light.

“The Blessing has taken hold,” Leofric announced to an audience of zero. He returned to his seat across from her.

“Now, let us begin.” He stared straight into Clara’s eyes as the golden light pulsed in her chest. “Why did you refuse to take the pills you were instructed to?”

Her vision went dark. She saw herself—no, Stella—in her quarters at the von Rhenia estate. She was shaking and sobbing heavily, clasping her hands together in prayer and muttering, ‘I’m sorry, Lady Iris’ over and over. Then she opened the bottle on her table and began swallowing the pills, one after the other.

“I didn’t refuse. I took the pills, exactly as I was told,” Clara said.

For the first time, the high inquisitor looked genuinely taken aback. “But if that’s the case… then how are you alive?”

Clara shut her jaw. Held it tight with every ounce of strength still inside her, despite knowing it was ultimately futile. Inevitably, her mouth opened.

“I come from a different world. There was an airplane accident, and I woke up here, the day before the trial at the High Court.”

Damn this ‘Blessing’. Why does it have to be so forthcoming?! It could’ve at least let me give a properly vague answer…

Leofric’s eyes went wide. His gaze dropped to her chest, as if doubting whether the Blessing was really in place. “How? That’s not… There was only supposed to be one!”

One?

He knows there’s someone here from another world? And not me?

Did that mean he knew about Warren? Was Warren involved in whatever conspiracy Leofric was orchestrating? The Warren she knew wouldn’t do that, but what about Lord Warren?

No, there was no way. She refused to believe it.

In both worlds, Warren Righton was many things. Arrogant, pretentious, infuriating. Occasionally charming. Always punchable. But allies with a cold-blooded murderer was not one of them.

“What do you mean, ‘one’?” she dared to ask.

“A different world,” he repeated, ignoring her entirely. “How very inconvenient.”

“Yes, it’s indeed been inconvenient for me to constantly have to clean up the messes your schemes leave behind.”

His laughter was dry. “Is mess what you call a sacred plan decades in the making? The path to a glorious future where—” He stopped himself. “No. I will not be drawn into prattling. I have many more questions to ask.”

The cottage walls shook, and a muffled scream came from outside. Leofric rose slowly from his chair. “I did not think anyone would dare disturb us here.”

Could it be?

He walked to the window, and whatever he saw as he pulled the drapes aside made him click his tongue. “Von Rhenia.” He said the name with a mixture of disdain and respect. “Well. That is unexpected.”

Von Rhenia? Was Iris here? Or the duke?

How did they find me? Had Warren told them about the ring?

Her chest tightened.

Leofric turned from the window and walked to the door, the ruby on his ring shimmering with energy as he moved. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back at her. His smile returned, though it was thinner than before.

“Stay put, Little Clara. We shall continue our conversation shortly. I have a matter to attend to first.”

Oh, Goddess, I hope Iris isn’t out there. They don’t know how dangerous Leofric is.

If something happened to the people who’d come here to save her, she’d have another death to blame herself for.

The cottage door swung open. Warren was the first to turn to face it. Next was Lord Conrad, who’d just had his swing deflected by Aldric’s magic. The duchess paused mid-chant, and the duke narrowed his eyes.

Warren was surprised to see Father Leofric, of all people, step out of the cottage unhurriedly, as if he’d been attending to his day-to-day business at the chapel. His gray cassock was stained with wine. He surveyed the scene in front of him, taking in the blood, the bodies, the scorched earth, and gave a small, disappointed head shake.

“Oh, Aldric. I leave you alone for a few minutes.”

“High Inquisitor!” Aldric panted. “I—these sinners, they attacked without warning! They have desecrated holy ground and murdered the agents of the Goddess!”

High inquisitor. Him?

Warren’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. There were only five of them at any given time, men and women who stood one rung below the Grand Inquisitor. They were always spoken of reverently, and each was supposed to be a spellcaster of terrifying capability, even considering the inquisition’s high standards.

To think Leofric was one of them, and that he was after Casewell. Why? Had she done something to incur such wrath, something beyond her courtroom performances? And perhaps more importantly, if she had, where should Warren Righton of Albion stand, between the Church and Clara Casewell? Why was he even asking that question?

“Yes, yes, I have eyes,” said Leofric. His mild gaze settled on Duke von Rhenia. “Your Grace. Forgive my appearance. I hadn’t expected to receive such distinguished guests this morning.” He glanced at Warren. “And Lord Warren. That is perhaps an even greater surprise. I wonder what your father would think if he could see you now, sword drawn and pointed at a servant of the Goddess.”

Warren lowered his blade reflexively. What am I doing?

“High Inquisitor.” Duke von Rhenia tapped his cane against the earth. “I don’t believe I recognize your face. I was under the impression that I knew all five of you.”

“That is by design, Your Grace. Some of us are more useful to the Goddess when we are not widely known.” He took a step forward. “I would very much like to understand what brought you all the way to my quiet lakeside retreat. And I can’t help but notice that four of my men are dead.”

“You shall return what you have taken.”

Leofric tilted his head. “I wasn’t aware I had taken anything that belonged to House von Rhenia.”

“Miss Clara Casewell, to start with.”

“Ah, I see. Forgive me, Your Grace, but I was under the impression that Miss Casewell had left your service. Surely a former servant is of no concern?”

“You are mistaken,” said the duke. “You will release her. Now.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that. Miss Casewell is currently at the center of an ongoing inquisitorial matter of the utmost sensitivity. A matter which falls entirely outside the jurisdiction of any temporal lord, however highly placed. You may, of course, submit your complaints in writing to the Ecumenical Council, as is your right.”

“That is a disappointing answer. If you will not release her voluntarily, then you will answer for your crimes against my house. Not just Miss Casewell, but Major Ricardo as well.”

Major Ricardo?

At the duke’s words, the duchess raised her hand, and Conrad readied his saber.

“Will I? Your Grace. You may not believe me, but I have a great deal of respect for House von Rhenia.” Leofric glanced again at the bodies in the dirt. “Even if your accusations were correct, a knight and a maid for four Veiled Keys would be a fair exchange. So I am going to ask you, once, to turn around, mount your horses, and return to Westwick. What happened in this clearing need not be remembered. I won’t even tell Duke Albion.”

Duchess Adelheid laughed softly. “I must respectfully disagree with your accounting, High Inquisitor.”

Leofric sighed as a javelin materialized behind the duchess.

It surged forward toward him, leaving a blast of wind in its wake. But as soon as it got close to him, it dissipated.

The duchess furrowed her eyebrows.

What kind of control over his own resonance field does he have to shrug off something like that? How much magical energy did he spend?

“A remarkably efficient spell. I can sense the effort you put into refining it. Worthy of someone who studied with Her Holiness.” Leofric adjusted his cuffs nonchalantly. “I suppose I should count my blessings that our inevitable confrontation happened here, of all places. Lake Elowen, where the first Saintess performed her first and greatest miracle. Ah, I can feel the holy energy in the air.”

He breathed in and raised his hand.

“Memento mori.”

The ruby on his finger shone, and Warren readied himself, expecting some sort of calamitous blast of holy energy. And yet, nothing of the sort seemed to be forthcoming. Could Leofric have misfi—

Warren dropped to his knees.

His breath caught in his throat, and his sword arm trembled.

He saw a vision of himself standing in front of the gates of his last judgement, at the mercy of the Goddess. You have conspired against my servants, Warren Righton, came Her voice.

And he saw himself sentenced to an eternity of flames and brimstone, his whole body catching fire.

The pain was indescribable.

“Murus animae,” came the duke’s voice, intruding from another dimension.

A translucent violet dome bloomed outward from where he stood, and when it reached Warren, he could finally breathe.

“A soul ward. How old-fashioned of you, Your Grace.” Leofric’s grin didn’t falter.

“I find that the classics endure for a reason.”

“So they do.” Leofric raised his hand a second time. “Dies irae.”

Rays of holy energy descended from the sky, swirling as they came down to smite those who dared to oppose the Heavens.

“Umbra crescat. Tenebrae devorent lucem,” the duchess countered.

Orbs of darkness erupted from the shadows beneath her feet and raced outward to meet the light.

Where they clashed with Leofric’s rays, there was an explosion of energy, and the pressure was enough to flatten the grass for ten paces in every direction.

But the rays kept coming, and the duke raised several of his earth shields, dancing in sync with the duchess’s darkness to intercept them before they reached their targets.

Lord Conrad darted to Inquisitor Aldric, who responded with a barrage of fireballs and lightning bolts that prevented the swordsman from getting close.

It was an astonishing sight. Even a single one of the spells being carelessly thrown around by Leofric and the duchess would be considered master-level spellwork. Warren felt distinctly out of place in this clash of giants.

Is there anything I can do?

He glanced at the entrance to the cottage.

Since he hadn’t gotten involved in the fight itself, the inquisitors hadn’t aimed any spells at him. This might be his chance. He circled the clearing, edging closer to the building.

Spell after spell exploded in a flurry as the duchess and the duke defended against Leofric’s onslaught. When Leofric seemed particularly distracted, Warren made his move. He kept low, sneaking past the inquisitors to the entrance of the cottage.

He opened the door just enough to go through it, then closed it.

Compared to the brightness of the battle taking place outside, the interior of the cottage was almost too dim to see through, lit only by the low embers in the fireplace and whatever light seeped through the gaps in the drapes. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Then he saw her.

Casewell sat bound to a wooden chair in the center of the room, her clothes crumpled and her hair a mess. There was a chalice and a bottle of wine on the table. Warren frowned. Had Leofric put her under the Blessing of Truth? He looked for the golden glow, but if it’d been there before, it was gone now.

Her hazel eyes found his. They were so much heavier than he remembered, and there was a myriad of feelings circling behind them. Pain, exhaustion, defiance, surprise.

She had gone through much, but she was alive. Thank the Goddess.

“Righton.” Her voice was shaky.

“I’m here, Casewell.” Warren smiled. “My deepest apologies for the delay.” He knelt behind her, cutting the ropes with his sword. “Are you hurt?”

“How did you find me? Was it the ring?”

He showed her his hand and nodded.

“You came,” she said. When he finished cutting all the binds, she stood, stretched her arms, then inspected her wrists. There were red marks over the spots where the rope had been tied, and Warren couldn’t help but feel angry.

“Yes, well, I couldn’t allow—”

She pulled him into a hug. “Shh. Don’t ruin it. Thank you, Warren.”

For a moment, Warren went rigid, his arms stiff at his sides. She pressed her face against his shoulder, and her trembling fingers curled up on his back. Then, slowly, his arms wrapped around her, and he could feel the tension in her muscles loosen.

A deafening crack split the air outside, and the cottage rumbled.

“What’s going on out there?” she asked. “I’ve been hearing all these noises. Is that spellcasting?”

“Yes. The von Rhenias are doing battle with the high inquisitor. He’s… a formidable foe.”

She broke their hug, and they moved together to the window, shoulders pressed against each other as they pulled the drapes aside.

Dozens of light rays soared across the clearing. The duke and the duchess met them with earth and shadow, but even they couldn’t get every single one.

Three bypassed the defenses and swirled toward Lord Conrad, who jumped to dodge them with superhuman speed. Yet one struck true just as he landed, enveloping him in holy light.

He screeched in pain, falling to the ground.

“No! Conrad!” Casewell cried out.

Leofric laughed sharply and directed several more rays toward Lord Conrad.

The duke and duchess scrambled to block them, but two more hit their target, sending the boy into violent convulsions.

Then Aldric raised his hand toward Lord Conrad, and Warren noticed the twisted grin at the side of the inquisitor’s face.

If Aldric followed up now, while the duke and duchess could barely hold on against Leofric, that would certainly be the end for Conrad von Rhenia.

Time slowed down around Warren. The air was thick in his throat.

He still didn’t know what the right thing to do here was. The ‘voice of the Goddess’ rang again inside his mind. The idea of opposing the Church was anathema to everything an Albion should be.

Yet Leofric and Aldric had kidnapped and hurt Casewell, and were apparently even behind Sir Ricardo’s death.

Could Warren stand by idly while the Church committed despicable crimes in the Goddess’s name?

The inquisitor was just outside the cottage. There was still a chance to act. Warren glanced at the disheveled woman beside him.

If Lord Conrad dies on my watch, she will never let me hear the end of it.

“Stay put,” Warren said, going through the door and shutting it behind him before she could protest.

He slipped behind Aldric, pushing his nerves away and steadying his sword.

When Warren got within striking distance, he pulled his weapon up, then slashed it downward, leaving a deep gash through the inquisitor’s thigh.

Aldric fell, writhing in pain.

An inquisitor of the Church. Maimed at the hands of an Albion.

Warren’s hands started shaking—it was a miracle he didn’t drop his sword.

Leofric glanced down at Aldric’s wound, then at Warren, and his face contorted into a sneer.

“Warren Righton of Albion. Today, you have betrayed everything you were meant to be. I had hoped to be merciful. But it seems the Goddess requires more of me. I will teach you a lesson you shan’t soon forget.”

The rays of light ceased, and Leofric reached into his cassock and pulled out a wand. Ebony wood, with a black opal at its tip, glimmering in a multitude of colors all at once. There was something wrong about its dark brilliance, as if its very existence violated some law of the world.

He pointed the wand at the fallen inquisitor, who was still squirming on the ground. “Aldric, since you have let me down so much today, it is time for you to make yourself useful.”

“No… Are you mad?!” Duchess Adelheid yelled, fear palpable on her face. “Lord Warren, run!”

The high inquisitor’s voice boomed out, deeper and louder than any human should be. “Iä! Shub-Niggurath!”