Hesketh Tolson
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Lich, Please 71: Bottles of Sunshine
🕑 Added 2022-02-26 13:57:58 +0000 UTCChapter 71
Bottles of Sunshine
I smile my friendliest smile but then remember she can’t see me beneath the veil. Or not much of me anyway. What can I do to entice her off the hallowed ground?
“I’m on a quest,” I say. The Bright One’s worshipers love that sort of thing. And it is actually true, now that I come to think of it.
“Oh?” she says, stepping closer, a questioning look in her eye.
That’s right my little pious nun. Just a bit closer now. I won’t even need my axe to knock her out, I can just thump her on the head with my fist. Although actually that does more damage than you might think. I will have to hit her very carefully. Or just hoist her over my shoulder and make a run for it. Hmm. Her robes are rather a bright yellow. We would be quite noticeable racing through the market stalls. Would anyone care? Do I care? I can outrun them all.
“I’m in need of holy water, can you help me?” I explain, spreading my satin gloved hands wide in what I hope is an appealing gesture.
“Come in, come in, sister,” says the nun. She stands to one side, gesturing for me to enter the hallowed, holy grounds of the Bright One’s cathedral. Behind her I can see worshipper’s filing into the knave. It is brightly lit, with a thousand candles, and there is a lot of music. “Come in out of the cold, and we can talk!”
I do not move. “It is a delicate matter…”
“All the more reason to come inside,” she beams. She is embarrassingly earnest. I can practically see the brains melting out of her ears. “Dear me, is it a big trouble? Come on in, and I can make you a nice cup of tea, and you can tell me what the matter is! Do you need the water for a blessing? A baptism? Whatever it is, the Bright One is here to help!”
I step backwards, hoping she will mirror my action. People sometimes do that, especially those eager to help. Gah. She does not, merely continuing to beam at me like there is nothing between her ears but golden sunlight. I clutch the handle of my axe in frustration.
“Can I not just buy some? I have plenty of money?”
The nun looks positively scandalised.
“Madame, we are not a cheap market stall selling religious tat!”
“Perhaps if you could come here and look at something,” I say. I hold my bag out to her, angled so she cannot see into it to the jumble of thread and crystals.
“Madame-” she starts, as if she thinks I might be trying to sell something but then a noise draws her attention. There are people gathering behind me. Gawping no doubt, here to see what the fuss is about. Nuns of the Bright One are always incredibly loud, I think it must be in the handbook. I resist the urge to turn and look at them but the nun feels no such delicate sensibilities.
“Yes?” she shouts, over my shoulder. “Can I help you? What do you all want?”
I give in to curiosity and turn as well.
A cluster of peasants are standing there, like an audience at a mummery. Peasants and a scattering of citizens, all different classes. All of them are watching us with their mouths open, a slightly mindless look of adoration in their eyes. A few of them are clad in forest green. Oh, by the Whisperer’s blackened orbs I should have murdered them all on the Downing road and been done with it.
“Well?” shouts the nun, leaning forward. “What do you want?”
Will she step over the threshold? Come on, come on, come on! No. Curses.
“We are here to see the Lady of Downing Forest,” murmurs a woman in a tattered dress. Her voice is low and respectful, and she bobs a nervous curtsy in my direction.
“Here to see the Lady,” mutters someone else.
“Here to see the Lady of Downing! Ka!” I glare up at the pair of crows perched on the overhanging ledge. Elding and Tora laugh down at me, their voices blending in those of the crowd. “The Forest Lady! The Forest Lady! Ka!”
The Bright One’s nun turns to look at me, a confused expression on her face. She either has not heard of the Lady of Downing Forest or she does not believe that a lich would walk up to a cathedral and knock on the door.
“Look,” I say, ignoring the peasants. “I just want some holy water. If you could just give me some, or… just come a little closer, that would be really nice.”
She steps forward, and my fist curls in enthusiastic readiness.
A bell rings across the square, clanging loudly from the Blind Queen’s Temple. I jump in alarm; the sound filling me with dread. More bells start ringing out across the city. The sounds of running footsteps echo from within the cathedral. Just as I am about to grab her the nun steps back, turning in bovine confusion.
The doors of the knave bang open, spilling people into the vestibule.
A priestess of the Bright One appears, her robes flapping like sails on a five hundred tonne galleon in a stiff headwind. A handful of paladins clank after her, their faces stern.
“Archon!” says my yellow-robed nun in surprise. “Archon, what is it, your grace? The service?”
This new one looks like she should know things. Her robes are lustrous. The sunburst covers her whole chest and is worked in delicate stitches in golden thread. Craning my neck, I do my best to get a better look. They probably have nuns raised from childhood with no other purpose than the decoration of the clergy’s clothes. I can see the appeal of that kind of slave labour. I would steal her just for a better look at her robes.
“The auguries warned me of a foul presence!” declares this impressive specimen, her face flushed. Her eyes flash amber. The paladins clang menacingly, glowering at me and the commoners at my back shuffle their feet, trying to peer inside.
I am beginning to feel claustrophobic, caught in a pincer grip between the two crowds.
“I only seek holy water,” I say, my voice coming out a little hoarse. “Or one who can make it.”
If the Archon would just step over the vestibule, I could be off. I can outrun the paladins, even with a slightly heavy middle-aged priestess over my shoulder. Probably.
“Who are you?” demands the Archon, peering at me, as if piercing my veil will let her see into my soul. Ha. She looks past me at the gathering crowd, and frowns. It has grown during the exchange, the excitement drawing onlookers like moths to a burning barn. Perhaps we do not look like her idea of evil. It is, after all, a matter of perspective. “Sister Lorelei, what is going on? Who are all these people?”
The crowd behind me starts to chant.
“Hail the sweet Mother of the Forest!”
“Behold her glory!”
“Only she can save us from these mortal bonds!”
Whisperer help me.
The yellow robed Sister Lorelei stutters and burbles. This is getting me nowhere. Plastering what I hope is a friendly smile across my face I lift up my hand and remove my veil. I clench my teeth at the Bright One’s servants. It hurts my cheeks.
They gasp and lean back.
“Look,” I say, quickly. “I’ve travelled a long way. All I want is some water. I don’t want to-”
Instinctively I duck. An arrow pings off the stonework besides me, knocking a tiny piece of masonry off the wall. Two paladins charge towards me screaming.
I grab the first by his meaty, armour-plated wrist, smashing him face first into the ground at my feet. A sword whistles perilously close to my head. I duck, growling. If my hair is ruined, I swear I will butcher them all, holy water or not. Rising in vengeful fury, I plant a kick in his chest, and push with all my might. The paladin swears and falls to the ground with a cry.
“Solem fero!” roar the rest. Twin suns bloom in the vestibule, flaring brightly, before beginning their rotations around the metal.
“Don’t tempt me,” I snarl at the same time the Archon shouts “Stop!”
The whisper dies on my lips. I am a little disappointed. I wanted to see if I can steal someone’s soul from inside the Bright One’s cathedral. But the paladins are lowering their weapons and I am a focused, mature lich with a mission. Bending down, I pluck an arrowhead out of my skirt with as much dignity as I can muster. It will need extensive mending.
“Evil monster!” bellows Archon, striding forward. The paladins protest but she silences them with a look. “Explain yourself! Why do you foul our doorway with your presence? Speak now! Or I will command the Brothers of Morning to destroy you!”
“Ooooooh,” says the dim-witted Nun. “I get it! It can’t come into the cathedral, can it? I understand now.”
“Do you?” I ask, pointedly. “I need some holy water. I’ve said it about seven times now. Just give me some holy water and I will take my foul presence back home.”
Silence.
The Archon blinks.
“Why?” she says. “What evil schemes do you have planned?”
“I’m trying to end the undead plague,” I say, simply.
The crowd behind me makes a strange noise. Sort of a rustling moan of admiration.
“She will save us!” cries a peasant.
“Hail the undead queen!”
“Why would you stand in her way, are you not supposedly agents of the greater good?”
A young boy of perhaps eight or nine years old steps forward and glares at the Archon, who is clearly taken aback. A blond-haired waif, with a smudged and dirty face, he seems very eloquent for such a young child. Especially a peasant. Like he has been coached. Hmm. I am beginning to have suspicions about the origin of my cult of worshippers but now is not the time to wring the crow’s necks for answers.
“You,” says the Archon. “You are trying to end the undead plague?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” I ask. “It is not my doing.”
There is another silence. One of the paladins is trying to whisper frantically in her ear, but the priestess holds up her hand in command. Her eyes narrow.
“Fetch me the water,” she says.
The yellow robed nun dashes away, her steps echoing on the marble flooring. The paladins shift and mutter. The crowd of worshipers shuffles awkwardly, musical instruments tingling. The crowd rustles behind me.
I want to go home, but I force myself to stand still, waiting.
The nun soon returns, holding a large, bulbous glass bottle in her hands. It is stoppered with cork and sealed with gold wax. The liquid within sparkles like refracted sunlight, bathing everyone in its buttery glow.
The nun hands it to the Archon, with great reverence. The priestess takes it in two hands and unstoppers it with a quick twist.
“Here,” she says, stepping forward. Her amber eyes are bright, and her face is as guileless as a new moon on a summer night. “Here is the gift of the Bright One’s holy blessing.”
I hold out my hands.
The Archon slops the gleaming liquid over me, sloshing it across my body with deliberate wickedness. The paladins crow with delight. The worshippers shout and point.
The Archon and I both look down as my skin starts to bubble and hiss. Flesh and skin peels away to show exposed bone. The holy water eats away at me, but the degradation stops at my bones.
“Oops,” I say, and blot off the remains of the water with my skirt.
It leaves scorched holes in the velvet like a noxious bleach, and smells like hot sun on stones. Nasty. I’m surprised the clerics haven’t thought to use it against me before, but then it is not that effective. I am left with one fleshless arm, a damaged stomach, and a skirt with huge holes.
I grin and punch the Archon in the face.
Her nose breaks with a satisfying crack. She clasps two hands to her face with a cry, blood dripping crimson onto the spotless cream of her robes. Serves her right. But more importantly, the foolish woman’s pride has carried her over the threshold.
I grab the holy water with one hand, and hoist the Archon over my shoulder with the other.
“Thanks,” I shout to the startled paladins.
Turning, I run through the crowd of peasants. They part before me like the wind through chaff. Giggling, I race through the city, the struggling Archon held in place by the steel strength of my arms.
