Chapter Text
Every cathedral of the Evernight Goddess had one such room nearby. Under the cover of darkness, women of any faith and any class would quietly slip through the back door, and just as silently disappear back into the night.
Inside, it was clean and dry. There was an altar for prayers, and on the opposite wall, a row of openings. Inside each recess was a wooden cylinder, open on one side like a shelf. Nearby hung a bell.
Every half hour, the duty sister would ring the bell three times from the other side. For the visitors, it was a signal that it was time to leave.
These rooms were a chance for those who, for whatever reason, could not keep their child. The church servants guaranteed complete anonymity and promised never to seek any information about their visitors. And although these doors were never formally closed, the visitors almost always came at night. It was hard to say whether this was a tribute to the Goddess or simply a desire not to be seen.
If the visitor wished, she could pull the bell, and the child would be taken immediately. Or she could slip away quietly under the cover of night. Once every half hour, the bell would be rung three times from the other side — it was a signal that in exactly five minutes, a church servant — by unwritten rule, always a woman and only a woman — would check if anyone had left a child in one of the cylinders.
The deacon __ could never have imagined that he would find himself in this place. He had carefully timed his visit to fall within the thirty-minute gap so as not to be seen. Not that men never came here, and not that __ felt any shame about what he was doing.
But this child — he had been told to bring him here by the Goddess Herself.
The instructions were terrifyingly detailed, and every single one of them carried the same unspoken message: secrecy above all. Normally, if someone found a child, the first step was to search for the parents. Abandoning a child could result in a state-imposed fine, depending on income. If the authorities deemed the living conditions unsatisfactory, the child could be taken, and the parents ordered to pay maintenance.
Though this formally applied to all classes, in practice it only affected the middle class. The state had no desire to meddle in the affairs of the wealthy, and the poor simply couldn't afford fines or contributions. The latter were only required to make sure their children didn't cause trouble.
And although no maintenance was demanded for children left in the "night wheels," most families valued a pair of working hands more than the cost of feeding them. A child was also a guarantee that someone would take care of you in your old age... if, of course, you both lived that long.
The Goddess's command to leave the child here could only mean one thing.
Their Lady very much did not want the parents of this baby to be found!
So __ did not ring the bell.
Being left under the Goddess's care was not the worst fate in the world. Until the age of fourteen, orphans in church shelters were fed and clothed, treated and taught. It was easier for them to find work — the Church always needed labour, and preference was given to those from such places. The Church did not want to let outsiders in, even for menial labour; desperate people would say anything to get a job, but the faith of children from church orphanages was never in doubt.
If a child showed promise, the Church could finance their further education. Doctors and apothecaries, accountants, economists and managers — all were needed by the Church. Rumour had it that the Church once financed the education of a journalist. They were required to pay back the cost of their education by working for the Church for a set period at half salary, but after that they were free to work wherever they wished — and yet most preferred to stay.
Also... such people were more often and more readily recommended for work serving the Goddess in special places. Of course, as civilian staff — but the important part was getting in. All high-ranking Church officials were Beyonders, and you could, of course, be promoted by seniority, but if you didn't want to take your first potion at fifty, there was only one path.
If no memory of this night remained in the deacon's __ head, it might have been because, despite the Church's prohibitions, he was a rather heavy drinker.
Yes, thought __, perhaps this child would become one of them. Fancy that — with such attention from the Goddess, perhaps one day he would outrank __!
38 years later
— "They might give me a diocese."
The meetings over the grey fog had quickly become a familiar place for gossip. Two years had passed since the Apocalypse, and all members of the Tarot Club had reached levels where it was no longer profitable to advance further. So twice a week, besides the Monday meetings, the participants of the divine gathering would assemble — not in full force — to share the latest news, just to maintain their humanity.
This time, only four members had come, counting their convener. So instead of the palace with the bronze table, the grey fog swirled into a drawing room woven from unknown memories. Klein claimed the fog created objects from historical void, and thus they had no analogues in the real world, but Leonard could have sworn that the lace doily on the low claw-footed coffee table had come straight from his old home.
Though the memory of Beyonders of the Darkness pathway was famously poor, so Leonard doubted that the grey fog would find anything worthwhile in his memories, even if it climbed into his head like an old man and shook out every last thought.
Pulling the doily closer, [Justice] Audrey Hall placed a mug on it and spoke in a calm tone.
— How do you feel about it?
— Like a teenager buying alcohol and lying about their age.
In the Church of the Eternal Darkness, there were three Angels — two of whom had served the Goddess longer than Leonard had been alive, and both of them held real, significant positions in the church hierarchy. Arianna, an Angel of the Darkness pathway at Sequence 2, was the head of the archbishops. Davomachia, an Angel of the Twilight Giant pathway at Sequence 1, was the Pope of the Church.
Leonard hadn't thought about such consequences of his advancement. His transition from Sequence 3 to Sequence 2 had taken two years in total — even though the ritual itself should have taken three. Although the Church had more than one spare characteristic at its disposal, few wished to go further. The loss of humanity already felt at Sequence 4 was enough to make anyone back down.
Leonard was one of the laggards in the Tarot Club. The only one who relied purely on church methods, he had completed his advancement to Angel almost on the eve of the Apocalypse, and so had never found the time to ask himself questions.
It seemed the realisation had only come to him two years later, when at this year's synod, the idea was floated that the new Angel of their Lady should at least be included in their Bible. In the minds of the faithful, the Lady had two Angels (and the title of one of them was already incorrect), and in the eyes of the Loen Kingdom's public, Leonard was still perceived by those in the know as a demigod. And if you wanted to be proper about it, it was high time to think about assigning him a separate diocese...
Although there was no direct connection between one's Sequence and who got a diocese and who remained an archdeacon, the idea that an Angel who (in the very distant future) might (someday) become (if everyone else resigned) a candidate for Pope, and yet had never received a territory of his own...
Well. It seemed Leonard had remained a demigod not only in the public eye. In theory, any Angel was a candidate for the next Pope of the Church of Evernight, but a demigod whose main task was to apply his calming abilities to the Angel living in his head — restless from fighting at a level beyond his Sequence — and an Angel who wasn't even written into the Bible, whose only achievement was one, albeit the most massive, battle on his Lady's side... he would be the last on any list for that role — even if the list consisted only of him.
— Is this about the Bible? — asked Klein.
Leonard hadn't thought he could hide anything from the Lord of the Mysteries, but he still hadn't expected such a direct question.
— You'll always be written into the Fool's Bible, — said Audrey, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. — We're releasing an updated version this Wednesday, so the Church of Evernight had better hurry before we claim our Star for ourselves!
— Wait, what?.. — this news hadn't reached Leonard yet. Though Angels of Darkness had memory issues, he could have sworn by the Goddess's name that he wouldn't have forgotten something like this.
— I suppose it wouldn't be the Fool's Bible if at least one Angel wasn't added without their knowledge, — Klein quipped. — Perhaps we'll mix up a couple of titles again, and we should probably check whether Amon has been added... again.
Taking a deep breath, and apparently counting to three in his head, Klein — as often happened during difficult conversations — shifted his form to that of Gehrman and continued.
— I suspect there may be more in common between Concealment and Secrets than one might think, — the mad adventurer narrowed his eyes, looking at Leonard, Audrey, and Miss Magician around him. The last of them had been flipping through a magazine in a language Leonard didn't recognise, and with a small squeak she hid her face behind it again. — This is what we discussed with Amanises when we approved your honorary name. For it to work fully, references to you need to be in both Bibles. I don't understand how your Church expects this to work if three lines from her part still haven't been confirmed.
Though the Fool's Bible hadn't released its new version yet, and Leonard was hearing about his own inclusion for the first time, he had no arguments in his Church's defence. In the Church of the Fool, five... six, counting him... (seven, if they'd accidentally(?) added Amon(?) again) new Angels had appeared — and yet their Bible had been rewritten in two years, the same time it had taken the Church of Evernight to merely begin discussions about planned changes.
— I suppose that's the privilege of a new religion, — Klein sighed, — even if those timelines are achievable only because we'll probably need a "day one patch" again.
With the number of Angels in the Church of the Fool, that excuse didn't quite hold water, but Leonard decided to keep that thought to himself. Feeling the awkwardness of this conversation, he asked Miss Justice for a separate consultation on the matter, and quickly changed the subject.
— If I may ask, Miss Justice, according to the respected law of equivalent exchange, how may I repay you for this forthcoming session?
— I might need a companion for an upcoming event, — she smiled. Miss Justice's diocese was in Trier, but Audrey Hall still attended social events in Backlund. And Audrey Hall was still unmarried; although she had been past the usual age for marriage for four years now, Audrey Hall was still considered one of the most desirable brides in the Loen Kingdom. Some were drawn to her wealth and status, but many nobles were familiar with the mystical world, and from her ageless face, more and more people suspected she had already attained a demigod status.
After the Apocalypse, the number of such events had increased, and a great many suitors had begun to trouble her. Leonard was the perfect solution to these problems — his status as a demigod of Evernight was almost public, widely known enough to scare off those in the know. Yes, an archdeacon could not compare to the Hall family in either social title or wealth — but many wealthy families would give half their fortune to have a high-Sequence Beyonder in their ranks. He was also an archdeacon of the Church in which the Hall family all believed, leaving no room for criticism.
In the eyes of society, there was almost no one who could compare to Leonard in looks and usefulness, and so the attempts to marry off Audrey Hall significantly decreased when she had such a companion.
Though sometimes there were those who, in such a situation, tried to court Leonard instead...
— After the last banquet, I got the feeling that if it went on any longer, your parents would come to me asking to clarify my intentions, — he smiled nervously. — Perhaps we really should ask the Church of Evernight to speed up the Bible release. If they decide I'm an Angel, all those questions might just disappear.
After all, all known Angels of Evernight were ascetics. It wasn't mandatory, but he could let the assumptions work in his favour.
Birds of a feather...
— At least they've already established a day in your honour, — Miss Justice changed the subject, steering away from dangerous waters. — Fewer people will pay attention to your birthday.
— They didn't really need to rewrite the entire roster of saints. February 14th was already Saint Leonard's Day — they just said it's now in my honour too... Now primarily in my honour, I suppose.
Klein had returned to his Mr. Fool form, and Miss Magician — who feared Gehrman Sparrow more than she feared her own god — perked up. Her blue eyes sparkled with suspicious glee, and following the unspoken question, Leonard — with the feeling that he was digging his own grave — continued.
— In the Church, sometimes saints share a birthday. In such cases, preference is given to the one with the higher Sequence. His name becomes the primary one, and the one who was displaced gets a new primary date — another significant date in his life, such as the day of his ordination. But having two Leonard days would be strange, so they simply decided it would be our shared day... sometimes I think it's a good thing Saint Leonard didn't live to see this day — I don't know how I'd look him in the eye...
— But what does that have to do with your birthday? — asked Miss Magician. She had put her magazine aside and now held a notepad and pencil in her hands.
— Ah, you were a follower of the God of Steam and Machinery, — Audrey nodded to herself. — It's not customary for followers of the Goddess to name their children after saints on whose day they were born. This is partly connected to the belief in concealment. The exception is... — She paused, looking at Leonard, apparently unwilling to reveal sensitive information without permission.
But it was too late — now that the conversation had started. Leonard might not fully trust the details of his biography to the crafty writer (though he had trusted her with his life more than once), but it was better she heard this part from him than imagine something wild on her own.
— The exception would be those whose true date of birth is unknown. In other words, orphans whose origins cannot be traced. My surname is the surname of the head abbess; my name was chosen in honour of the saint on whose day I was found, — this information no longer caused him pain, but Leonard categorically did not want to see the details of his life become a part of Miss Magician's novel... again.
His biography could be left solely to the discretion of the Bible... two Bibles. And already published novel.
The writer was already scribbling ideas for her next book. Leonard glanced into her notebook, reading the letters upside down, and then quickly snatched the pencil from her tenacious grasp.
— I know how your mind works, Miss Magician, but the probability that the heir of an ancient, wealthy, aristocratic family with roots stretching back into ancient times would end up in the Goddess's wheel is extremely low. The vast majority of those who give up their children to such places are middle and lower class, — the Church tried to keep statistics on this, though it was based solely on the appearance of the abandoned infants — Sometimes, mark my words, sometimes! Among infants, there are those who were clearly left by wealthy people, but by a longstanding agreement — and not without intervention from noble families who believe in the Lord of Storms — a child left in the wheel forfeits any right to inherit anything other than the property of their adoptive parents. Even if their relatives appear and insist, their only option is to go through the same procedure as a normal adoption. All traces of the past are erased, and investigations are strictly prohibited.
But Miss Magician seemed to have latched onto this idea. She summoned a new pencil from the historical void and began scribbling again.
— In the world of the Beyonders, some things don't care about mundane laws of inheritance. A faithful follower of an orthodox Church rises to Angel at breathtaking speed, only to discover that he's the descendant of an Ancient God of the Darkness pathway, raised by the Church as a loyal follower from infancy...
This time, Leonard snatched the notepad from Miss Magician too — just to be sure.
— I'm already connected to one family from the Fourth Epoch and one Ancient God, — he gave a half-joking bow in Klein's direction, who was watching the show before him with immense delight — If you publish anything like that, you'll be burned for heresy before you can prove you're an Angel of the Orthodox Church.
Tossing the notepad to Miss Justice, he continued.
— Besides, it's just my assumption that I'm from there. Maybe my parents named me Leonard, and it just so happened that I was brought to the orphanage on that same day. I don't remember my childhood well enough to be certain.
Silence fell over the grey fog once more. Miss Justice, who had been flipping through the notepad, paused, and then asked.
— Mr. Star, you don't remember your childhood?
Leonard shrugged.
— When I was about ten or eleven, I was transferred to an orphanage for children who had encountered supernatural incidents — the one in Backlund. Later, I asked to be assigned as a civilian employee in Tingen, hoping that the place where I was born might clarify some memories. It didn't help much, but you know — Beyonders of the Darkness pathway always have leaky memories.
Klein shook his head.
— Leonard, Insomniacs have poor memory for current events, but they don't forget decades of their lives after living less than forty years, — he set aside the bowl of crispy corn and walked over to Leonard.
— Perhaps your memory was lost due to that incident — the one that got you transferred to another orphanage... Leonard...
Klein looked Leonard straight in the eyes.
— Would you like to remember?