Chương 70: Chapter 71: “Noah (2)

Celestia let her head rest against the back of the seat. The veil came off first, set on the cushion beside her, and the fan she had been carrying for the last several hours followed it. Her shoulders, which she had been holding in the precise squared posture required for the entire afternoon, finally relaxed. Across from her, Paimon was sitting very straight. The streets outside the noble district had begun to give way to the commercial parts of the city.

The smooth paving stones underneath the wheels were starting to roughen again, and the smells of cut grass and flowering hedges had been replaced by the smells of cooking fires, smoke, and the heat of the city. Through the gap in the curtain, Celestia could see the lamplighters at work along the avenues, and the moon had begun to rise over the rooftops.

'Beatrice Hill.' In many ways, the girl reminded Celestia of who she had been in her previous life. Imprisoned by her family's name, performing a role that had been chosen for her since childhood. Beatrice was further along that road than Celestia had been at that age. The pull of family, of the name Beatrice was holding the entire weight of the line for, was not something Celestia could get rid of.

Even if Celestia had broken it for her, Beatrice would have relapsed, still trapped by the cage of upbringing and nobility. The first step had to be Beatrice's own. Whether her family loved Beatrice herself, or the woman known as Lady Hill, was not something Celestia knew about. Celestia turned her head toward the window again. The streets were full of people; commoners, adventurers, merchants closing up their shops for the day, and stalls opening up to serve food and drink.

A group of adventurers had taken over the front of one tavern, and one of them was singing badly, while the rest laughed at him.

"You must feel disillusioned with nobles by now, Paimon." Paimon's head turned.

"E-excuse me, my lady?" Celestia did not look away from the window.

"I was born into a fortuitous noble house. The Duke and Duchess thought of nothing in this world but my happiness. They are not common, my parents. The majority of noble girls are like Lady Hill, traded away before they are of age, betrothed to men they have never met, all in service of bloodline or family standing." She watched a woman in a flour-streaked apron lean out of a bakery to call her child in for the night.

"One could say it is the price for the comfort they have lived in their whole lives. But I am not certain that is the case. To be familiar with unhappiness, and trapped in the act of feigning happiness; that is the lot of most noble women, from childhood until the grave." Paimon was very quiet.

"Of course," Celestia said, "what you experienced was far worse. I do not intend to compare both of you; the pain of one should not be measured against the pain of another. I only find… that I sympathize with her." The carriage rolled on for several seconds. Then Paimon spoke, and her voice was firmer than it had been all afternoon.

"I…! My lady, I believe that I was fortunate enough to meet you." Celestia turned her head. Paimon was sitting forward in her seat, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. The visibility inside the carriage was low, but the moonlight from the window's gap fell across her face, and Celestia could see her clearly. The white hair was longer now than it had been.

Her cheeks had filled in with sufficient fat, her arms had built muscle from training under Jade and Martha, and the eyes that looked at Celestia were honest and steady, holding nothing of the flinch and uncertainty that had been there in the early weeks. Time had moved strangely.

Though it had only just been a short time, the work had been continuous, one project into the next, and somewhere in the middle of it the small, frightened thing she had taken out of that cage had grown into someone capable of protecting herself. A small lady, more than a little frightened girl now. Celestia let out a quiet laugh. She reached her hand across. Paimon's eyes followed it, and she did not flinch. Celestia paused for a moment, her hand a few inches from Paimon's head.

'Careful.' The impulses were not hers, and yet, they were hers. The warmth came from the part of her that was of her past life. But beneath that, something colder also moved. Though she had reigned it in, Celestia had not forgotten it was there. She brought her hand down, and patted the top of Paimon's hair lightly. A short ruffle, then she withdrew her hand. Paimon's eyes had widened. Then her cheeks went pink, and she lowered her face quickly, and the hands on her lap tightened around each other.

"... Th-thank you, my lady." Celestia did not respond to that. She turned her head back toward the window. If she had let her hand stay any moment longer, the look on the girl's face might have changed. Those honest eyes might have shown disbelief, pain, and betrayal. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. That would have been a regretful moment. No… Celestia closed her eyes as a smile formed on her face.

'A rather joyous one.' She opened them again, and looked back out at the streets passing by. * The chapel doors opened, and Noah entered. He walked in slowly, the bottom of his boots striking the stone floor. The nuns who lined the benches on either side of the aisle did not look up. Their heads were bowed, their hands folded, and their voices kept low in the soft murmur of evening prayer. Noah's robes were black, but not as black as they had been when he had set out that morning.

A wide stain ran down the front of the garb from the high collar to below the belt, the rust-brown of blood that had already dried during and after his time at the Tower. His sleeves carried similar marks. His hands, by his sides, swaying as he walked, were streaked with the same color, and a smaller spatter sat across his right cheek where he had not wiped it away. None of the nuns reacted to the sight. They had already known what this service was for.

He reached the pedestal at the head of the chapel and turned to face them.

"You may rise." The murmur of prayer ceased. The nuns rose from the benches as one, the rustle of their habits filling the room briefly, and then they stood in silence, their faces turned toward him. The candles along the chapel walls had burned low. The light caught the gold of the altar piece behind Noah, and threw the shadow of his shoulders long across the stones at his feet.

"My sisters." Noah's voice was quiet, but it carried easily in the air of the chapel.

"We have walked into the Light tonight, two more of our own. Sister Lira, who served the Light for two years, and Sister Patricia, who came to us three years past and gave the Light her every breath since. Both have, this evening, become one with the radiance they pursued." A small, choked sound came from somewhere within the group of nuns.

"Let us not grieve, sisters. They have not been taken from us; the Light keeps the names and the faces of those who serve it until the end of all things." He clasped his hands in front of him, giving tribute in the form of a prayer.

"Honor their sacrifice. Honor their memory. And pray that, when our own hour is called, we walk toward it as they did." The nuns lowered their heads. A few of them were crying. And the one who had made the sound earlier, had her hand pressed to her mouth, and another sister beside her had taken her by the shoulder. Two others had reached for each other across the bench. Noah began the prayer. The chapel filled with the sound of voices joining his, the old words rising and falling.

The flames of the candles bent gently as the breath of the room passed across them. The names of Sister Lira and Sister Patricia were spoken multiple times to ingrain in their hearts who they were and how they came to be in this church.

"The Light keeps them. The Light keeps us. I will help them go in peace." The service was over. The nuns moved quietly, bowed to the altar, and made their way down the aisle and out through the chapel doors. Others remained in their benches a while longer, heads bowed, before rising and following. Within several minutes, the chapel had largely emptied. And now, only a few women remained. They sat in the front row, where the candle light fell most directly.

They were of varying age, some older and some younger, and at the collar of each of their habits was a small silver mark that the rest of the order did not wear. They sat in silence, their eyes on Noah, and they waited. Noah descended one step from the pedestal and stopped.

"Sisters."

"Reverend." The eldest inclined her head. Noah looked at each of them in turn.

"On this day," he said, "I completed the trials within the Tower's heart, and I have been counted among the anointed. The Light has, through the Tower's grace, granted me the opportunity to speak with one of the Gods who dwell within." The women drew in a single shared breath. The eldest's hand had risen unbidden to her chest. The sister beside her had closed her eyes. Another, the youngest was openly smiling, and a single tear had run down the side of her face.

"Sisters. I bring to you tonight the words of the encounter. And I bring to you, as well, a single grace given. The God I spoke with permitted me one question within their purview, and one answer in return." They all waited with bated breaths.

"I asked," Noah said, "the names of the other anointed.. And with a disappointed sigh, he continued, "But I was sadly told that my authority is, at present, sufficient only for the lowest-ranked among them. The rest will be revealed as my standing within the Light grows. But of the lowest-ranked, I was given a name." He paused before continuing, "Celestia von Reingarde. Of House Reingarde." Noah's voice softened, "My sisters. I know what name has reached your ears about this woman. I know the rumors.

I have heard them as well. And I will say to you what I will say to no one outside these walls: she has contributed greatly to the lands within Reingarde territory. Her family's purse has helped feed the poor and the old, saving the lives of thousands of our faithful. She has developed a mode of transportation for the common people, providing them with the comfort of a safer travel towards their homes.

"Until I am given cause to declare her against the Light, or with the Light, I would ask you to extend to her the grace we owe to those whom the Tower has chosen. Show her no animosity, and watch with patience until the time of her standing is made known." They all then bowed their heads. Noah stepped down from the second tier of the pedestal, and walked to the front bench. He sat down on the carved edge with one knee crossed over the other.

"Now then," he said.

"Tell me how the order has been in my absence. The trainees, in particular. How have they fared?" One of the apostles spoke, "Reverend, the latest cohort has been progressing well. Most are ready for the lower floors within the month, and the rest will need further preparation before we send them in." Noah nodded slowly.

"And the cohort below them?"

"Most are still in their early instruction." Noah turned his head toward the eldest again.

"And the matter of succession. Among the next to be raised into the apostle-hood, who do you have in mind?"

"Two, Reverend. Both have served faithfully for over a year, and both have proven themselves within the Tower."

"What floor have they reached?"

"They have both reached Floor 36 of the Tower, Reverend."

"See to it, then, that they are made comfortable when the time comes."

"As you say, Reverend."

"One last matter." They waited.

"Send flowers to Sister Rain; I would like her to know that her sisters and I have not forgotten her. Lilies are her favorite."

"It shall be done, Reverend."