Martin made it through the next few days uneventfully. He went out one more night with Sly, but otherwise spent his time after work wandering the streets of the capital or training with Jacques. In his wanderings, he had kept an eye out for the man he had seen the other night, or for signs of the killer.

  The Grey Man, the papers had taken to calling him. He had struck again the night before, on the other side of the city from where Martin had been at the time. This time, a young girl was taken. Also an orphan, this one had a deformity in her leg. The Grey Man had dissected the leg before removing the girl’s face and leaving the body in an alleyway. It was appalling; A part of Martin hoped that he would find the Grey Man so he could demonstrate the results of Jacques’ training. Even with the danger, that seemed like a safer way to spend the evening than returning home early to Boudica.

  Today was Martin’s day off, and as the morning sun cast its first rays upon the house, he roused himself and made slightly more of an effort than usual to make himself presentable. Boudica had already left for work, so Martin didn’t need to worry about his extra preparations catching her observant eye. Although he planned to take a moment to rough himself up a touch before he returned home. They had been entirely civil to each other, but tension continued to rise as they awaited word from Connach. The last thing he needed was something else to alarm her about his behavior. Her attitude towards the Church of the True Creator was abundantly clear. There was no easy way to explain to her why her previously nonreligious husband had suddenly decided to attend mass.

  The parish church that Vicar Corvus was in charge of was located near the Queen’s Market. It was a newer church, and its white stone walls stood as a testament to the evolving grandeur of Alderbridge’s architectural style. The stained glass windows depicted scenes from the scriptures—breathtaking reminders of the pivotal moments in the growth of mankind under their True Creator.

  As Martin approached the church, he saw the same deacon he had seen last week standing by the gates. This time, Martin made straight for him.

  “Good morning, brother,” the Deacon smiled warmly. “I’ve not seen you at mass before. It’s always a pleasure to welcome a new face.”

  “Good morning, Deacon,” Martin said, reaching out to shake hands. “I’ve not been to mass in a long while, I’m afraid.”

  “The True Creator is always willing to welcome back one of his own. Welcome to our church. My name is Thomas.”

  “Martin. Thanks for the warm welcome. It sounded like you knew all of your sheep by name.”

  “Not all, I’m afraid. Still lots to learn. I shall do my best to remember yours as well.”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself on my account. I’ve been told I’m fairly forgettable.” Martin said with a reassuring gesture. “Who will be saying mass today?”

  “The Vicar shall lead mass today. You’re in luck. I believe he’s prepared a rather exciting homily for today.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. I’d best go find my seat.”

  “Enjoy the service. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Martin.” The Deacon quickly gave Martin directions into the church before turning to greet more of the worshippers arriving for mass. Even in their brief interaction, he could feel the warmth and care rolling off of the Deacon. It would be a better world if we all were like that, he mused, heading into the church. He wondered, not for the first time, what sort of clergy had been responsible for his unnaming.

  As he entered, he was struck by the solemn atmosphere that pervaded the church. Unlike the understated simplicity of the Chapel of the Faceless God, the Church was rich in decoration. The air was heavy with incense, mingling with the scent of polished wood and candle wax. Rows of pews, carved from dark oak, stood in silent witness to the congregation that slowly filled the church. Martin quietly found himself a space on a pew near the back of the occupied rows.

  At the pulpit stood Vicar Corvus, his presence commanding and intense. His features were sharp, like the edge of a knife, and his piercing eyes looked out over the congregation beneath a brow permanently furrowed from years of thought. Clad in the vestments of his office, he exuded an aura of piety that belied his storied past. Rumors had long circulated about what exactly he had done before donning the cloth, and what had driven him to do so. The result of these rumors was an image of a man who, despite his cloth, was not averse to engaging in matters more earthly than divine.

  The service started shortly after. Martin figured he must have been fairly devoted in his past life, as once the service started, he found the responses and actions needed were still somewhere in his head. With the exception of a few changes to the script, whether they were new or just regional variances, he couldn’t tell, he scraped through the first part of the mass without drawing undue attention to himself. At last, they sat for the homily. Vicar Corvus made his way gracefully to the lectern.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, faithful and true,” began Vicar Corvus, his voice a deep timbre that resonated through the ancient stones of the church. His voice was carried in part by the skillful acoustics laid out by the architects of the church, but also augmented by some magic granted by the True Creator, so even from the back of the congregation, Martin could hear Corvus’ words like he was right in front of him.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Today,” Corvus continued, “we gather not just in worship, but in remembrance of a tale nearly as old as the faith itself—a tale of betrayal, a warning against the seductions of darkness, and the eternal vigilance required to guard our souls.

  He paused, letting the weight of his words settle upon the hearts of those gathered, his eyes sweeping across the faces turned toward him.

  “Once, in the dawn of the world, the True Creator made his first children, the Son and the Daughter, Ligeia. The Daughter he made to be ever faithful and true, to nurture life above all else. The Son he made to dream, to bring his children to ever higher heights. After those two, he beget the Five. His most loyal servants; they would live and die to protect his realm. To this day, their descendants still serve this greater purpose.”

  Martin was familiar with this group. The Five Great Families. Most of them lived on the continent, but one of them lived up North. In fact, Connach’s land was on a fief of that lord. Before Martin had time to wonder if these great servants of the church would intervene, Vicar Corvus had pressed on, his voice growing in intensity.

  “Finally, the True Creator beget the rest of mankind, and over the years we thrived under the care of the Daughter, the inspiration of the Son, and the protection of the Five. In that time, the True Creator rested, but there is no rest for the powerful, for soon those with envious eyes turned their sights on the world—beings so powerful just to look on them is to invite insanity, cosmic bodies with shapes unfathomable to the human mind—these are the monsters that sought entrance into this realm, and enter they did.

  Thus began the war of the heavens. At first, the True Creator was able to hold them at bay, but as the years went on, cracks began to show where one least expected them. The Son, a beacon of light and guidance for all of us, was tempted by one of the Cosmics, one known only as the Devourer.

  Blinded by greed and a wanton lust for more power, this first child of the Creator turned his back on his father. Together with the Devourer, the Son plotted the downfall of the True Creator. Together they conceived a plan, a betrayal so profound it shook the very foundations of our planet and the heavens above.”

  The congregation was rapt. It was a story told to everyone from childhood, but the Vicar’s delivery was impeccable. Even Martin found himself getting swept up in religious fervor. Part of him wondered if there was more than just voice amplification in whatever spell the Vicar had cast.

  “In their hubris, they struck the True God down, wounding him grievously. But was our Creator so easily cast down? No! The True God, in his infinite power and wisdom, cast a spell so powerful that it rebuilt the boundary between our world and the cosmic ones. The Son, his name now lost to the annals of time, is known by a different name—the Betrayer, and the Devourer, the most fiendish and insatiable of cosmics, has not been seen since. Some say the True Creator was slain that day, but I say Nay! The True Creator lives yet, recovering his strength and maintaining the barrier between the worlds. One day, when the final battle between heaven and cosmic is upon us, he will awaken and bring eternal victory and salvation for those of us who have remained true.”

  Vicar Corvus’ gaze hardened, the fire of his conviction burning bright red.

  “The Betrayer, knowing the enormity of his sin, fled into the shadows, hiding from the justice that awaits him. He remains a cautionary tale, one that reminds us of the cost of turning away from the light.

  And so my beloved flock,” Corvus continued, his voice now a fervent plea, “let this tale be a beacon to guide your faith. Care not what voices call to you in the night; they speak to you of nothing but lies. The Cosmics are out there, in the reaches of space, where no one can save you, and no one can watch what’s left of you become food for that which cannot be reasoned with, cannot be bargained with, and cannot be trusted.”

  He lifted his hands in benediction, the final words of the sermon a clarion call to the faithful.

  “Let us walk in the light of the True Creator, shunning the darkness and the Cosmics who dwell within. When the True Creator returns, let him find us worthy, let him see that we have kept the faith, and let us rejoice in his return. Be steadfast, be vigilant, and above all, be true.”

  As Vicar Corvus concluded, the congregation rose in a chorus of affirmations, their spirits fortified by his words. After the sermon and the end of mass, Vicar Corvus retreated to one of the confessionals. The confessionals maintained by the Church of the True Creator were protected by the True Creator’s blessing. It was said that the confessionals were spaces protected entirely from the Cosmics, a space of peace and security. Rumors abounded that those of higher status, or those engaged in shadier business, would sometimes rent out a confessional for meetings after poorer churches were closed for the day. Within the walls of the confessional, they could freely speak secrets that could not be uttered under the light of day, or in places where ears might otherwise be found.

  Many people lined up for confession, but Martin sat awhile longer in his pew, as if deep in prayer. The Vicar’s sermon had been a masterpiece of rhetoric, weaving together scripture with lyrical embellishment and painting the Betrayer as the ultimate cautionary tale against the allure of false gods. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake selling his soul to the Faceless God. He knew that Corvus’ words would echo in his head tonight, along with the screams of his wife and the face of his darling Elisia.

  As he exited his meditation, he noticed a figure collecting alms, his movements familiar. The badge upon his chest and the markings on his robes matched those of the servant who had spoken with Victor Harrow at the dockyard. Martin watched the man for a moment, but as nothing was likely to happen in the middle of a crowded church, he soon moved on. He got up and started moving to the door when he found Deacon Thomas in front of him.

  “Leaving so soon?” he asked. “I always recommend a confession if you’ve been away from the church a long time.”

  “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that, Deacon,” Martin responded. “But I’m sure I’ll be back.”

  “I hope so, you’ll always have a family here, should you wish for it.”

  “Thank you kindly, Deacon.” The two shook hands, and Martin went on his way. Step one of his infiltration of the church was complete; there was no need to rush any more than that. Besides, he had a previous appointment with Will that he needed to keep.