Droit’s hand closed on the sheet-wrapped hilt and I held my breath, half-expecting the attack, remembering Aronson’s words: I keep thinking that this is just another game he’s playing, and eventually he’s going to cut our throats. Because we trusted him. But Droit just threw the sheet away and lowered the sword’s tip to the marble floor, shaking with the effort. Sweat dripped down his face. I wondered what visions were playing themselves out in front of his mind’s eye.
“Let’s go,” he grated.
“That’s very good.” Cardinal Croix’s voice rang with satisfaction. “Very good. Come with me.”
As we began to walk, Jack and Caro moved up to flank me, while Holly, Kate and Finn dropped back to the rear of our small procession. They were thinking like a team and moving like a team … or a pack, I thought, with a moment’s pleasure. I had speculated in the past that Yzyrchye may have bound their minds together as a unit, and now I felt more certain of it. I didn’t think Droit noticed. He was breathing heavily, his gaze fixed on the floor and his knuckles white as he kept a death-grip on Might’s hilt.
I forced myself to look away, feeling obscurely guilty about studying him while he was in such obvious pain. I admired his strength, but I couldn’t deny that there was also something appealing about seeing him distressed and vulnerable. What did that say about me? Nothing good, I supposed.
Croix led us past the altar. The golden sun vanished as he stepped up to it, and we stood in a hallway. His gown of capillaries brushed along the walls in waves of crimson as he led us down its length. The tolling bell had become so steady and so loud that I couldn’t even hear it anymore.
Then the hall faded and we stopped moving, standing in the middle of blinding balelight and emptiness. The tolling vibrated through to my core and deafened me like the sound of a million hearts and drums and wings beating in synchronicity, like a million lungs breathing at the same time. I stood motionless, staring wide-eyed into the piercing light. Time and space stretched out around me in perfect balance and perfect stability. Something pulsed in the center of the light, something unthinkably large and loud, but I couldn’t — quite — apprehend it. Him. Her. Kyrchye.
This is Reality, I understood, my mind and flesh bursting with sound and light. This, this singular point, right here. Because everything else, on both sides of the Line, was volatile and unstable, an illusion created by undisciplined minds. Only after you swept away the dreams and expectations and fears and perceptions could you see what was left: this perfect, serene, eternal moment. I cried out with relief. Everything I’d gone through, everything I’d lost, was revealed to be ultimately meaningless in the face of this eternal truth. The world was exactly as it was meant to be, and there was a place for me in its pattern. The tapestry was woven through me, the symphony played upon me, and I believed to my innermost core that every thread and every note was and always would be correct.
For the first time in my life, I felt whole.
Then … it might have been hours later, or within the next heartbeat … I fell back inside of myself again, aware of my own small, granular, limited, pain-filled identity. I heaved a deep sigh and looked around.
We were standing in the atrium of the cathedral, next to the front door. The bell had stopped tolling, but I still felt its vibration in the beat of my heart, in the sound of my own breathing. The children’s faces were slack with wonder, fear, and awe. Croix looked ecstatic. And Droit — Droit’s face was twisted with horror, his hands empty and clenched into helpless fists. I walked over and laid a hand on his tensed arm.
“Are you all right?”
He looked blankly at me, his green eyes wide and terrified, and then he seemed to snap back into himself, too. With a small shudder he straightened his shoulders, shaking himself.
“I’m still alive,” he said, trying for an off-handed tone that he didn’t quite manage. He drew in a deep breath, then reached out and ran an unsteady thumb over my tear-streaked cheeks. “You?”
I nodded, then turned to check on the children. One by one, they unfroze and grasped each others’ hands, pulling each other into long, clinging hugs — the wondering, relieved hugs of survivors. I could feel my own moment of perfect confidence fading, and I wondered if truly holy people experienced that moment all the time — that constant, serene comprehension that there is something vaster, deeper, and more meaningful than their day-to-day experiences, and that it will be there for them forever.
Maybe they did. I supposed I was lucky just to have experienced it once. Even if I couldn’t remember exactly what it felt like, I’d always remember that it was possible. That it was there.
“Hey. Ax.”
I looked back up at Droit.
“I did what you asked,” he said. “Your dog deserves a pat on the head, at least.”
I gave him a startled look, and for a split second, I felt that unearthly confidence again, that sense that everything was in its right place. Even me. Then I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down and holding him as tightly as I could.
“Thank you for choosing me,” I said, burying my face in his long blond hair. His arms tightened around my waist. Hidden daggers pressed against my chest.
“I’ve killed people for less than what you did to me today,” he whispered in my ear.
“I know.”
“So tell me I’m a good dog.”
I pulled back and studied his face. “You’re a very good dog.”
His smile was crooked.
“Good dogs get to sleep in their master’s beds.”
I gave a small laugh and reached up to pat his head a couple of times. Same bad habits. Whatever Kyrchye had revealed to him, it hadn’t altered him that much. I was debating over how to answer when Caro gave a cry of dismay.
“Our scars are still here,” she said, her fingers brushing Holly’s hair aside. “Why aren’t they gone? All the cuts we got from fighting the vines are gone!”
“Kyrchye can speed up your body’s natural healing process, but that won’t erase the scars you’ve already taken,” Croix said. “Your experiences are part of you.”
I touched my leg, realizing that it didn’t hurt anymore, either. At some point during my vision, my wounds and my bale-splint had vanished.
“Could Yzyrchye remove them?” I asked, glancing at Droit, but Croix is the one who replied.
“Perhaps. Kyrchye provides stability and Yzyrchye provides change. They are complementary opposites.”
“Complementary?” Droit’s hand still rested on my back.
“Yes.” Curtains of red shifted around Croix. “I will bring new teachings back to the Reverence, teachings it will resist, as it resists all change. But a little change is necessary to ensure a lasting and well-balanced order.”
“Sounds like heresy.” Droit’s eyes gleamed.
“I’m sure I’ll be accused of that.”
“You might replace me on the Reverence’s ‘most hated’ list.”
“It’s possible.”
“Hell.” He gave the cardinal a fierce grin. “Now I’ll have to join your cult just to stay controversial.”
“You would be welcome. All of you.”
“Does that mean I’m not excommunicate anymore?” I asked, hopefully.
“I will vouch for you to the Reverence bureaucracy, if you want to return to it.”
“You’d better do it fast,” Droit retorted, “before the bureaucracy realizes what you have to say.”
“Thank you, Cardinal.” I beamed. I knew now that I didn’t need to belong to the Reverence to remain a part of Kyrchye’s omnipresent symphony, but I found the Reverence’s rules and rituals comforting. It was another place to belong, and I needed a sense of belonging as much as Droit did.
Balelight flooded the nave, making us all blink and squint. Finn had pushed open the cathedral doors and was leaning outside, calling a balebridge to span the gap between us and the maze of vines.
“Come on,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “Let’s go! What are you waiting for?”
Croix stepped onto the bridge without hesitation, the connections between his flesh and the cathedral walls breaking away and dissipating without a trace. As soon as he was outside of the building, he looked like a normal man again — or would as soon as he’d visited a barber. We crossed the bridge and passed through the motionless vines to rejoin Far and Milka on the other side.
“Thank you, Far,” Croix said. “My thanks to all of you. I’m looking forward to seeing Cislunar again.”
“Kyrchye say,” Far replied, tersely.
Droit pulled out his pocketwatch.
“If this thing is right, we’ve been across the Line for two and a half hours. Cardinal, we were in court before we were called here, and I don’t think the judge is going to be happy that we left. Would you mind testifying that Axton didn’t cross the Line to escape?”
“I will explain exactly what happened.”
Droit gave a curt nod and turned to Milka.
“Any chance Far would stay there long enough to answer a few questions in court?”
She shook her head, looking stubborn.
“Far doesn’t like to talk to adults. He’s just doing this as a favor for Kyrchye.”
“This new theology’s going to be really interesting,” Droit muttered. “All right. Is Far sending us back?”
“You don’t need him.” Croix looked at the sentinels. “Just open the Line.”
“We need to call someone to get the right place,” Holly protested.
“Call Michael,” Droit suggested, eyes gleaming. “My cousin, Nobilis Aronson. You know him well enough by now.”
The five sentinels quietly conferred together, then all fell still, their eyes focused elsewhere. I saw Far watching and wondered what he was learning from them.
“Got him!”
“Found him.”
“There he is!”
“Me, too!”
“Okay.”
Droit chuckled with fierce glee.
“That’ll give him a headache,” he said with satisfaction.
The children reached out and opened a gap in the Line, more easily than they had the last time we were struggling our way back to Cislunar. Through the gap I saw Nobilis Aronson on his feet, staring at us.