Chapter 52
The Solaric Council meet in Aureu's alabaster heart, the tall hope that reaches. So large was the Cathedral that it held the Bureau, the Lords' Lyre, open areas for prayer and partying, and meeting rooms for the great and the good. The room the Council used was called the Advisory, a beautifully-rendered space with motifs and murals of pre-Cleansing heroes, hanging far above the Cathedral's main hall.
The Council would be settling down as Maya sat in a nearby waiting room. She'd decided to arrive late, when Lord Blind would be feeling most satisfied with himself, for the most impact. She hoped to fluster the insufferable oaf as she sat on a luxurious sofa and counted the seconds.
“Do you think Peace is watching us?” Applekill asked, lying on the sofa beside her.
“She may be. Why?”
“Just... curious. It's been a while since she spoke to us.”
Maya stood, deciding to enter now. “She was silent for more than a century before the Second Invasion,” she said. “A few years is nothing.”
“I guess.”
Contegons guarded the Advisory. Traditionally, they wore leather and carried halberds, but, after the Second Invasion, they wore thick plate armour beneath their robes, strong enough to withstand a Disciple bullet, and held a Baptism in each hand.
“Acolyte Councillor!” one said. Maya didn't know her: Contegon turnover had increased so much she hadn't had time to learn their names. “We did not expect you.”
“Though it is a pleasant surprise, of course.”
Neither acquiesced: aside from the Guardian, they were the only people in Geos who don't acquiesce to Councillors, as doing so might compromise their vigil.
“Good evening,” Maya said. “I assume you want my weapon.”
“And your ring.”
Maya gave them a cold smile. Someone had found out that her ring was a source of power and had made sure every Contegon knew it. She suspected it was Lord Blind again. She handed over her short sword and ring, one to each. The Contegon with her ring pocketed it, struggling with her thick gauntlets. The other placed her sword in a sheath specifically made for it, a very thoughtful touch.
As always, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply when separated from her Spirits. Giving up the item you invested a Spirit into cut you off from your powers. The absence was jarring, painful, and wrong.
This separation might have come from Lord Blind, but the Guardian had authorised it: he hadn't liked Sol's Gift making her the strongest in the room. The Council was built on hierarchy, so usurping it was not allowed even by one 'touched by Sol.' Maya had argued and advanced her case, but she had lost. And so she wounded herself and her Spirits for every Council session.
“Shall I announce you?” the Contegon with her ring asked.
“No. I'll just go in.”
Maya took another deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened her eyes. The Contegons' mouths turned into small smiles, their admiration a strange pressure. With a wide smile, she entered the Advisory.
No one knew what the Advisory was used for pre-Cleansing, but it was the most beautiful room in the Cathedral. The First Servant had made it the home of Geos' government the moment she saw it: its walls held murals of tiny gems and precious metals depicting the heroes the first Stations were modelled on. These jewels glinted in the candlelight as Maya entered, sparkling with joy at seeing her. Battle scenes, contritions, and stories were played out in beautiful expense. After her first Council session, Maya had pawed over them for an hour.
The Advisory's table, known as the Mensa, accommodated the Councillors with ease. A great oblong, the First Servant had ordered it made to suit this beautiful room, inlaying it with a golden relief of the Council's seal, nine sexless figures of exquisite detail seated around Sol. It'd been suggested that the new Stations should be added, but, in a time of war, it was deemed a waste of resources.
Ten seats at the Mensa were already filled; Starfish, the Mariner Councillor, only attended one session in four because he also ran the city of Port. The chairs were arranged by the Stations' hierarchy: Visit, Councillor of the newly-formed Maters, sat at the far left; Octave and Flux, Doctor and Farmer, were next, then Note and Quill, Artificer and Merchant; Cleric Councillor Pale sat opposite Starfish's empty chair; Draw faced Tone White; and, finally, Lord Councillor Blind sat by the Guardian, with Maya opposite Blind. No one sat at the opposite head to the Guardian.
Everyone looked up as she entered. Tone kept the pretence of surprise, though she opted for pleasant surprise. Blind took in a sharp breath. Draw scowled.
“Maya,” the Guardian said, “we hadn't expected you.”
“I had a last minute change of plans.”
The Guardian gestured for her to sit, looking more healthy than he had in years, now able to sustain his expression of surprise, which would have been impossible during the worst of the unknown illness which kept him bedridden at times. He had gained weight too, and his grip on the Sceptre of Sol was firm and steady as he sat in the grandest seat in the room.
Maya sat in her chair. Blind gave her the once over, his white beard twitching.
“I understood you were taking a leave of absence?” Flux asked. He was a slim, balding man whose loose skin showed he'd once had much more to him. Octave had helped with his diet, though simply eating less had probably been the answer.
“I was. As I said, my plans changed.”
“Well, we're glad to have you here,” Quill said. He beamed at her, his teeth almost as white as Nephilim's. It paid for a Merchant to look good.
“Indeed,” Pale said. “Shall we start?”
“Why not?” the Guardian asked.
When no one answered, Pale reached into his robes and pulled out a sealed scroll. He went to pass it to Draw, when the Guardian coughed.
“Throw it to me.”
Pale's large eyebrows knotted. Decades had taught him better than to question the Guardian, so he threw the scroll across the table. The Guardian reached out to catch it, but knocked it into the air. He got it on the second occasion, which brought a stronger smile to his face.
Maya felt like applauding. Instead, she laughed. “Your recovery continues apace, sire.”
“It does. I have Lord Blind to thank for that. Though I fear I'm just stalling the inevitable.”
“Sol would surely not allow you to recover this much and not take you further,” Blind said. He patted the Guardian on the hand. “I'm sure if you keep this up you will soon be better.”
The Guardian cast a glance to Octave, who coughed. “We all hope so,” the thin Councillor said, looking away to provide a view of a crooked nose that was almost bigger than the rest of him.
Maya felt sorry for Octave, whose best efforts had brought no improvement to the Guardian. Blind’s prayers hadn’t made a slight difference, but it was impossible to argue with these people that fortune didn’t mean that Sol had intervened. “The agenda, sire?” she said to move things along again.
“Of course. Blind, if you could?”
Blind cut the scroll open with a small knife. This took longer than if Maya or anyone else in the room had, but tradition demanded that the Lord open the agenda. So they waited as his shaking, bony hands worried at the wax, almost sawed it open.
“Right,” the Guardian said. This was his first time seeing the agenda: the Council set it to advise him on how to run Geos. “The first item on the agenda is... is no small matter: whether to allow the investigation of the use of Disciple technology. Blind, you brought this to the Council as a matter of urgency?”
“I did,” he said. One could almost miss the tightness in his jaw.
“Really?” Note asked, eyes blazing behind her spectacles. “I wasn't informed of this.”
“Lord Councillor Blind used his emergency powers to add this to the agenda,” Pale said, the arbiter of the Council's laws. “It was added too late to inform those affected.”
“How curious,” Note said. Technology and the advancement of kno
wledge was her sphere as Artificer Councillor. Her biting tone reminded everyone of that.
“I thought it important to discuss the matter in light of... questions people have put to us,” Blind said.
“Questions?” the Guardian asked.
“As you know, sire, people of influence come to the Lords for guidance in the way of Sol. Just recently, Visit brought me the concerns of her Station: the Maters are worried about the impact bringing such 'technology' into the public sphere might have.”
“Visit?” The Guardian looked along the table. “You have concerns?”
“I do.”
“What kind of concerns?” Note asked.
Her aggression wasn't doing them any favours so Maya coughed, tried to let her friend know to calm down. The message seemed to be received as Note sat back and took a deep breath.
Visit was a plump woman with well-kept hair and a crow's staring eyes. She had single-handedly pushed through the creation of the Maters, opting for simple soil-coloured robes with green trim. 'The Maters are the soil from which our new generation spring,' she'd said in their first meeting to justify the choice.
“I am just a simple woman,” Visit said, “but there can be no good from evil, no light from darkness–”
“Have you not heard of a match?” Quill asked, laughing at his own joke.
Maya smiled politely, but didn't laugh to seem rude.
“But a match is crafted with our hands, which Sol guide. It is not light from darkness, but light from light, formed through the hard work and toil of a brilliant Artificer. I worry that, were this technology explored, we would sink further and further into darkness in an attempt to find that light. I like to think of the Maters as the protectors of the next generation, as well as their mothers, and many in my Station are concerned at the idea of their children wearing golden armour, becoming heartless monsters. It seems like the work of Lun, and I find myself unable to explain why it's not.”
If you looked hard enough, you could almost see her strings as Blind pulled them.
“Maybe you can't understand that because you're not an Artificer,” Note said.
“That's easy for someone who doesn't have children to say,” Visit replied.
“What damn knowledge does unprotected sex grant you that a lifetime of study–”
“Note!” the Guardian said, banging the Sceptre of Sol against the floor. “That is out of order. One more comment like that, and you will be forbidden from the vote.”
“My apologies, sire. And to you, Visit.”
The Mater Councillor bowed her head slightly, her eyes narrow and lips tight.
The Guardian waited a moment, holding everyone's attention. “Blind, the concerns of the Maters – whilst they clearly have merit, Visit – do not represent a significant enough change in circumstances to bring this before the Council under emergency powers. We have discussed this topic at great length, and I do not wish to tarry on old roads unless we're to have a proper vote.”
“If you'll forgive me, sire, I thought they were,” Blind says, quickly producing his excuse. Perhaps he'd planned what to say if the Guardian had such concerns. “The Maters are the heart of the common people, being the newest Station, and so having the largest number of previously Stationless people.”
“Besides the Shields,” Draw corrected, his voice low and gruff. Even though he was going to vote with Blind, he couldn't help but undermine the man's point.
“Beside the Shields,” Blind accepted, casting a glance at the broad military man. “And Draw adequately represents their views here. With both of them raising grave concerns about the use of Disciple technology, I felt that showed that most people did not want its use to be allowed.”
“If popular opinion is what matters, why did you oppose the creation of the Acolyte Station?” Tone asked.
He narrowed his eyes, looked briefly at Maya. “Because we Lords interpret the Sol Lexic.”
“It was your area of expertise,” Octave said.
“It was.”
“Then why don't we go with the knowledge of someone who understands technology best, Lord Councillor?” Maya asked. “That would be Councillor Tone, wouldn’t it?”
“The matter is not just about technology, though, is it? It's about ethics, about the morality and decency of our fight against the Disciples. It's about not becoming that which we fear–”
“Or becoming a stain, a forgotten memory,” Note said. “Which is what we risk–”
Note stopped talking when a commotion started outside. Everyone halted, tense, as raised voices passed through walls thick enough to prevent the Council's conversations escaping. Maya, Tone, and Draw stood.
“Maya,” the Guardian said, “find out what that is.”
Maya strode over and opened the Advisory’s door. Behind it, the Contegons guarding the door grappled with an Acolyte. They were being kept at a distance by an invisible force that had to be Cyrus Force.
Maya took a step forward and saw who it was. “Request?”
“Maya! Oh, thank Sol!”
“Request, what in the name of Lun are you doing here?” She cast a glance back at the Council, mortified at her charge's lack of discipline. “I'm in the middle of–”
“I flew all the way here. I had to come, I had to come straight here. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know what else to do!”
“Request, it's okay,” Maya said, entering the corridor. “Just stop using your powers against these poor Contegons, okay?”
Request nodded slowly. The Contegons ceased to be pressed back. They went to tackle the Acolyte, arrest her, but Maya said, “No, leave her,” and they held their ground.
“Maya, what is happening?” Tone called.
“I… I don’t know. Request, what are you—” Only then did Maya notice the tears, her heavy breathing and trembling lips. Request barely held herself together. “What is it?” Maya asked. “What's happened?”
“They're dead. The Acolytes have been killed.”
Maya coughed, her throat raw, then searched Request's face for proof this wasn't a spectacularly ill-advised prank. All she saw was honesty. Her world shrank away as the idea that three more of her Acolytes had been killed sank in.
“All of them?”
“Everyone who was with me.”
“No, no, that can't be right.”
Request broke into sobs and gripped Maya. Maya stood still, unable to move, unable to think anything other than how much her throat hurt.